The Greatest Headmaster of Hogwarts
by z'yiandria
Summary: He'll be studying under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen: Albus Dumbledore. And so Harry Potter arrives at Hogwarts, keenly watched by the one person who has heard a hint of the future in store for him.
1. The Philosopher's Stone

Welcome all readers. Those of you who know my work may think I'm biting off more than I can chew by posting a third story. You may be right. But I'll have you know I'm enjoying every minute of it.

What you recognize as the work of J.K. Rowling quite obviously belongs to her. It would be the epitome of both vanity and foolishness to take credit for anything.

Last note, I hope some of you will leave a word or two telling me what you think. I welcome constructive criticism with open arms, and reviews make me dance around my apartment with happiness. On that note, enjoy!

* * *

There was a brisk knock on the door, and Albus Dumbledore smiled to himself as he looked up from that morning's _Daily Prophet_. That would be Minerva, coming to discuss the newest Hogwarts students for the year. "Enter," he said pleasantly, and he was not disappointed; Minerva McGonagall opened the door, looking quite as sharp and efficient as ever, and strode across the antechamber into his actual office.

"The new students for the year, Albus," she said briskly, brandishing a roll of parchment as she spoke.

"Ah, yes, I do believe I was expecting that list right about now," Albus answered, pushing aside the newspaper. The crossword was only half-finished, but it could wait. "Excellent. Do sit down, Minerva. I could draw you up a chair—"

"No need," she answered, and conjured a straight-backed wooden seat in front of his desk before sitting primly upon it.

"No cushion, Minerva?" Albus asked, a chuckle evident in his voice, though he rather thought it best to hold back an actual laugh so as not to offend her.

The brisk professor did not answer, but handed him the neatly written list.

"Thank you," he said, then gestured to the candy dish on his desk. "Would you like a lemon drop?"

"For the last time, Albus—" she started, but this time Dumbledore actually did chuckle.

"Very well, but perhaps you ought to consider delving into the world of sweets and finding a favorite for yourself sometime."

"Well—I am rather fond of ginger newts," she said stiffly, then motioned for him to look at the list again.

He did so, but not before saying, "Well, in celebration of that discovery, I do believe my new password for the term shall have to be 'ginger newt'."

Minerva rolled her eyes, but sat patiently.

Albus at last got down to reading through the list, and after a moment looked back up at her. "Well, that seems to all be in order. With such a wonderful deputy head, I expected no less. You will see that the owls are sent out later today?"

She nodded. "Of course, Albus."

He looked down the list again. "Another Weasley this year," he observed.

Minerva's mouth thinned noticeably. "I hope, for the sake of Argus' sanity, that this one does not show such an inclination for rule breaking as the twins have."

Albus resisted the urge to laugh long and heartily at the thought of all that Fred and George Weasley had got up to in the past two years. In the end, he just smiled and handed back the list. "Was there anything else?"

She nodded again, this time even more briskly, and tapped a name on the list. "We really ought to discuss this, Albus."

"Oh, I see. But I thought you approved of enrolling the boy, Minerva—"

"It's not that!" she answered sharply, and Albus noticed with some amusement that her nostrils flared slightly. "Of course I approve of enrolling the boy, his parents were some of the brightest this school has ever seen. It's just that, well, you can't just leave it at that, Albus! He'll be famous here, and he doesn't even know it yet. You said yourself nearly ten years ago that it would be enough to turn anyone's head. How would it not turn his head now?"

"Minerva, he may only be eleven, but he will be more able to face such a situation now than he would if some wizarding family had taken him in. I will readily admit that his head may yet be turned by the fact that every witch and wizard knows his name. However, as neither of us can see the future, we must wait until the boy arrives before passing judgment."

"But Albus—the paper this morning!"

The corners of Albus' mouth twitched. "Yes, I enjoyed the article on that new Wolfsbane potion, myself."

"Albus!"

He sighed, and reached up to stroke the handsome phoenix sitting on the edge of his desk. "I did read the story on the front page as well."

"And?" Minerva's eyebrows edged closer together as she looked at him.

"And I do not think that young Harry should ever see it, whatever may happen to him here. I have also had a word with Cornelius about discouraging any presence of the press here for the next few years."

The transfiguration professor's eyebrows rose slightly. "The press has never had much presence at Hogwarts, Albus."

Albus looked over his spectacles at her. "Given the article this morning, you surely realize that they have an increased interest in Hogwarts at the moment. Or at least, in one of its newest students. But I suspect it will pass within a fortnight."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Minerva, I'm sure another scandal is due to happen somewhere in the wizarding world within the next week or so." He smiled, and could have sworn that the corners of Minerva's mouth turned slightly upward.

"Well, I shall see that the owls are sent out. Filius and Pomona offered to take care of answering the muggle-borns' questions this year and showing them to Diagon Alley. Although, Hagrid volunteered to take care of delivering the letter to Harry Potter." Minerva looked as though she questioned the judgment of this.

Albus could quite envision the half-giant gamekeeper begging to be allowed the honor of delivering Harry Potter his school letter and taking him to Diagon Alley. Hagrid had, after all, been a great friend to Harry's parents, both during James and Lily's Hogwarts years and after. Albus cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure that won't be too much trouble to arrange. I'd better warn him that there might be some trouble getting to Harry, though. Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley are not kindly disposed towards magic."

"You had better warn Hagrid to take special care this time, Albus. After the mess with that other muggle-born—"

"There was no permanent damage, Minerva. Memory charms do work wonders, you know. But I do see your point, and I shall be sure to give Hagrid the proper amount of muggle money to get through the Underground without trouble this time."

Minerva nodded, got up, vanished her chair, and started towards the door, before hesitating and turning back. "I suppose," she said in a restrained voice, "that you have found another Defense teacher for this term."

Albus nodded pleasantly, opening his paper to the crossword again. "Yes, out of the two applicants, I thought Quirenius Quirrell would be the most suitable. He has some affairs to set in order, and then he will arrive here a week before the start of term."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Do I happen to know the other applicant?"

The headmaster shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "You might."

"Severus applied again, didn't he?" Minerva asked in an exasperated voice.

"Finally, Minerva, a direct question. Now, if you please, I'm expecting a call from Cornelius any moment. He had something else to discuss about young Harry."

Minerva nodded primly, then showed herself out.

Albus got up and walked over to look out at the grounds through the sunlit windows behind his desk. He sighed. There were so many complications with the idea of Harry Potter attending Hogwarts at last. He had barely managed to dissuade Cornelius from personally introducing himself to the boy and taking him school shopping. No, better that Hagrid do that. If Harry was anything like his father, or even his mother, the two would get on famously.

More worrying at the moment were the rumors that Sturgis Podmore had brought back from his trip to Albania. It appeared that there was some sort of dark magic in one of the larger forests that was getting restive. The ministry had dismissed it immediately, of course, as Pyrites had also been in Albania and had specifically said that he'd found no traces of Dark magic. Albus was having second thoughts. He couldn't be sure quite what it was as he hadn't been there, but he had his suspicions. He had always suspected that Lord Voldemort had not been completely finished off the night he underestimated little Harry Potter. However, he had hoped that whatever was left of the dark wizard would be too weak to trouble the wizarding world any further. There had certainly been no trace of Voldemort however hard the Ministry's team of aurors looked.

Fawkes crooned at him, perhaps scolding him for worrying, and flapped over to his shoulder, demanding (though of course with great dignity) to be stroked again.

Albus sighed, rubbing the bird's head absent-mindedly, still staring out of the window. Well, the wizarding world had enjoyed a nice break from dark magic, he supposed. Ever since that disasterous Halloween. There had obviously been the nasty clean-up work for about a year, but afterwards, the wizarding world had functioned for quite some time without so much as a hiccup as far as dark magic was concerned.

While he couldn't see the future, and was absolutely certain that he harbored no gift for Divination, Albus couldn't help feeling a vague worry when he thought about the coming year. Harry Potter coming back to the wizarding world at last . . . It was very exciting, but Albus knew from long experience that great good and great evil often arrive hand in hand. And then, of course, there was all this talk about how Harry Potter might have defeated the Dark Lord through a powerful dark magic of his own.

Fawkes gave a more insistent note, and Albus returned to his desk, only glancing at the story on the front page of his newspaper before turning back to the crossword.

When Albus Dumbledore looked up from his paper again, it was to see a head in the fireplace. However, it was not the Minister of Magic. Albus immediately got up from his ornate desk chair to crouch down by the hearth, smiling at the sight of his old friend.

"Good morning, Nicholas. Lovely weather we've been enjoying lately."

"Hullo, Albus. Thought any more about getting that hair cut?" The face of the young man in the fire grinned cheekily up at him.

"I have indeed thought about it, but you know very well that it always grows back, so—what's the point? But have _you_ thought any more about perhaps allowing yourself to gain some wrinkles?"

The head in the fire tipped slightly to one side, as though to shrug, and Albus thought vaguely that the disadvantage to conversing through fire was that one could shrug and communicate absolutely nothing, as shoulders were not visible. "Perenelle likes me young and fit. And what can I say? I rather like her better young, too. No, we're both still very happy with the whole situation, as hard as you might find that to believe."

Dumbledore made a noncommittal noise, and the head in the fire raised its eyebrows.

"You know, the offer still stands, Albus. After all, we made the second stone together, so—"

"I prefer to let nature take its course, Nicholas."

The head gave what might have been another shrug. "Knew you'd say that. But you know, it's really rather rude of you not to give me an adequate way of thanking you. If you hadn't been there when the first stone was destroyed . . . "

"You wouldn't be here today," Albus finished. "But you know, I still don't see the appeal of immortality. Don't you ever get tired of the cares of the world?"

"Yeah, well, we ignore them for the most part. Get on with our lives . . . " The face grinned up at him again. "But anyway, on a related subject, I was calling for something else."

"Something else to do with a particular stone hidden in a certain Gringotts vault?"

"Er, yeah. Now, look. I know you don't set much store by rumors, but—"

"It depends upon the rumor, Nicholas."

"Right. Well, it's been a few short years since we had anything really nasty to deal with in the way of dark magic, hasn't it? And I can't help feeling . . . "

Albus smiled. It was always this way with Nicholas. He had to dance around the subject, aproaching it from just the right angle. "You think someone's after your stone, don't you? If you'll forgive me for saying so, you are rather paranoid about that little rock, Mr. Flamel."

Nicholas's voice was suddenly less carefree. "Look, Dumbledore, it's all very well for you to say nature should take its course, but given my age I'll probably drop down dead the minute I stop taking the Elixer. So yes, I'm paranoid."

"Naturally, Nicholas, naturally. But what evidence do you have that someone is after it?"

"Someone offered to buy it from me the other day."

"Yes, Nicholas, I believe there are a great many people who would offer to buy it if they knew you possessed it," Albus said, trying not to sound impatient.

"Yeah, but you weren't there. I know a veiled threat when I hear one."

Albus frowned at this. "Who was it exactly that offered to buy it?"

"That's what's worse. I never saw his face. He kept his hood well up, even though I invited him into the house, and we sat down to talk and everything."

"How rude," Albus said, trying not to smile at the indignance in his voice.

"Yeah, I thought so," Nicholas said seriously. "Anyway, very agitated when I refused. Wouldn't say anything when I asked where he got the information that I had it. Then, when he found out why I take the Elixer, he tried to get me to believe he would keep me supplied with it for the rest of eternity. As if."

"You know, Nicholas, sometimes I wonder at how quickly you adopt colloquialisms. You almost sound like some of my students."

"Collokie-whatsits? You're getting off topic, Dumbledore."

"And you're taking a long time in getting to the point, Flamel."

The head in the fire nodded. "Fair enough. Albus, I want you to keep the stone at Hogwarts. Just for safekeeping. I always did say your school was safer than any place on earth."

Albus hesitated. "I don't know, Nicholas . . . "

"Hey, you helped make it. Doesn't that mean you have partial responsibility to make sure it doesn't find its way into the wrong hands? I would protect it myself if I could, but the most I can do is leave it at Gringotts, and I just have a bad feeling about that right now."

Albus considered this for a long moment. Then he nodded gravely. "Very well, Nicholas. I will keep the stone here for a while, but not permanently. You have a year, and then you will have to find something else to do with it."

Nicholas broke into a large grin. "Excellent. I'll owl the goblins. Or pop into the Gringotts fire, or something. But I'll make sure they know you're to get it."

"I'll send Hagrid with a note to get it. He's taking care of another errand at the moment, and it will be easiest to do both things at once."

"Right. Well, I'll be in touch, Albus. Thanks again." And with those parting words, the head of Nicholas Flamel disappeared from Dumbledore's office fire.

Albus had hardly jotted down the next clue in the crossword when a second head appeared in the fire, clearing its throat to get Dumbledore's attention.

"Ah, good morning, Cornelius. How are you this fine day?" Albus asked, crouching down by the grate once more.

"Not bad, not bad," Fudge answered. "And yourself?"

"Never better. I was just thinking it would be an excellent day to take a swim in the lake. But I believe you had some further questions for me, Cornelius?"

"Yes. Well—" The rather pompous man seemed to hesitate. "It's just—are you quite certain that it wouldn't be best if I were to—"

"Cornelius, I do not think it would be wise for you to introduce yourself to Harry Potter. I'm sure you will eventually have the opportunity to meet him, but I would prefer to have one of my staff show him around Diagon Alley."

"Oh, very well," Fudge said irritably. Albus could tell he was quite put out, and had rather hoped to change his mind through this visit.

"About that story in the papers, Cornelius," Albus began in an offhand voice.

The head in the fire rolled its eyes. "Not you as well, Dumbledore. I've already had to tell about fifteen different people that I had nothing to do with it. I had no idea they were even thinking of putting out an article." He frowned. "I may have to keep a closer watch on the _Prophet_ in the future, if this mess is anything to go by," he mused. "I've got a major debate on my hands, you know that, Albus? There are people who are convinced that he's a hero and should have a proper hero's welcome back into the wizarding world, people that think he's been well-versed in the Dark Arts since he was born and should be shunned. And then there are those few people who think he's not significant at all, because it all happened such a long time ago."

"Only time will tell, Cornelius," Albus said gravely.

Fudge sighed. "Yes, well, I can only hope that the best rumors prove true. I'd hate to think we have another budding Dark wizard on our hands."

"I can assure you I'll keep a close eye on him, Cornelius."

"Yes, and I'd appreciate it if you kept me informed, Albus. Well, about that latest trial for the Wizengamot . . . "

The interview did not last longer than ten minutes, and then Albus bid the Minister farewell and went back to his crossword. After solving it, he gazed out of the window again. Just one more month, and the boy would be here. Albus hoped Cornelius's—and everyone else's—optimism proved to be on target. Retrieving his pensieve, he listened once again to the prophecy that had led to his doubts of Voldemort's death. Yes, they could very well have another rising Dark Lord on their hands. But time would tell.


	2. Beginning a New Year

Welcome back (hopefully). Please keep in mind that anything you recognize in this story is not mine, and that by telling me what you think of my story, you can help me make it better. And as a bonus, any reviews sent my way will never fail to make my day. Special thanks to:

**Danielle**: Thanks, it's good to know I didn't bungle the beginning too badly. Hope you like this chapter, too.

**Loop-da-loopy**: Yeah, I've always liked the idea of getting Dumbledore's point of view as well, but now I see why so few people attack it: it's really hard to write! Anyway, glad you liked it and thanks for reviewing.

Important A/N: Because there's no mention of Quirrell's first name in Book One, I originally adopted a name of a character J.K. Rowling mentions on her website as one she was never able to develop (that would be Pyrites). Upon further digging, however (many thanks to Harry Potter Lexicon--such a great website), I discovered that Quirrell _did_, in fact, have a given name: Quirenius. Please note that I've gone back and fixed the first chapter to reflect that. And now, without further ado, on with the story!

* * *

Dumbledore was once more reading the _Daily Prophet_ when he heard the brisk nock on his door. "Enter," he called cheerfully. Minerva McGonagall was not long in doing so.

"Quirenius, Severus, and Rolanda arrived this morning just after breakfast, so everyone's here and settled in again. I told them to be in the staff room for the start of term meeting in a quarter of an hour," she announced, not the least hesitant about getting to her point.

"Yes, excellent," Albus mused as he pondered the last clue on his crossword. "Ah, excellent! Yes, that fits in nicely, and there the crossword's all done," he said, scrawling the last word with a loopy flourish.

Minerva gave an exasperated noise halfway between a snort and a sigh. "Albus . . . "

"Ah, the staff meeting," he said, looking up at her again. "Yes, I imagine that will have to be taken care of rather immediately. Shall we go down, then?" He stood, gave Fawkes a passing stroke, to which the phoenix crooned happily, and matched Minerva's pace out of the room.

The sixteen other members of his staff were waiting for them, and after warm greetings all around, they fell respectfully silent, waiting for him to speak. Albus sat down in his chair and cleared his throat. "Yes, welcome back. Before we address any questions that you may have, however, I would like to make an announcement.

"Many of you know my friend, Nicholas Flamel, with whom I have done some work on the science of alchemy. You may also know that he possesses what may be the only Philosopher's Stone in existence. He has asked me to keep the stone safe for him this year, and I agreed. The Stone will reside here at Hogwarts until this time next year, unless of course unforeseen circumstances arise.

"I have arranged to have the Stone hidden in a newly added chamber that is located beneath the castle and only accessible through a trap-door installed in the third floor corridor. Hagrid"—Albus gave a nod to the half-giant taking up an entire corner of the staff room—"has kindly agreed to lend us the services of one of his charges to guard the corridor."

Albus paused, as there were several mutterings and a few groans at this announcement.

"And which charge, pray tell," Severus said slowly, "would that be?"

Hagrid swelled proudly. "That'd be Fluffy, tha' would."

"Fluffy?" Minerva asked, and Albus detected a hint of misgiving in her voice. "What kind of creature _is_ Fluffy, exactly, Hagrid?"

"He's a dog," Hagrid said excitedly. "A bit like Fang, but about this high"—he gestured with his hand, and Quirenius looked as though he might faint—"an'—well, he's got three heads. He's got the sweetest disposition, though."

"W-w-well," Quirenius stammered at this news. "Th-th-th-three h-heads! A-a-and all with t-t-teeth, no d-d-doubt. It s-s-sounds t-to me th-this stone will be v-very well p-p-protected." He gave a nervous little laugh.

"We'll have to warn the students to stay away from that corridor," Filius voiced. "And a few locking charms wouldn't go amiss, either. I know the students generally keep away from doors that are locked."

"Except those Weasleys," Argus Filch said with a furious look. "Give them a locked door, and they'll be clamoring to see what's behind it."

"Now, be reasonable, Argus," Minerva interrupted. "While Fred and George may be trouble-makers, Percy is hardly one to pry into locked doors. He's a prefect this year, and perhaps with the extra authority he can keep his younger brothers in line."

Argus looked as though he very much doubted this.

"I will make it plain during the announcements at the welcoming feast that the corridor is dangerous and to be avoided," Albus said to stem further arguments.

"Is the dog all that's guarding the stone, Albus?" Pomona asked, looking slightly worried.

"No, indeed," Albus answered, "And it is this point that I wish to discuss with you. I have provided the stone with additional protection, but I am worried that it might not be enough. There are several antechambers leading to the location of the stone that I feel would be perfect for additional enchantments, obstacles, or guards. I would like to know what each of you thinks should be guarding the stone, and if you would be willing to help. Quirenius? Would you care to lend your expertise in your field?"

Professor Quirell started at being addressed. "W-well, I would s-s-suggest s-some sort of g-g-g-guard. P-perhaps a d-d-dark creature es-s-specially d-difficult to p-p-pass?" he stuttered, looking around to see if anyone else agreed.

Albus frowned. "I must admit I'm rather averse to the idea of having a dark creature inside Hogwarts."

Severus raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Exactly what do you call—what was its name?—Fluffy?"

"Fluffy ain' no dark creature!" Hagrid protested. "He's—'e's jus' misunderstood!"

Albus cleared his throat again to regain his small audience's attention. "What kind of creature would you suggest on top of Fluffy, Quirenius?"

"T-t-trolls have always b-been s-s-successful guards," he said carefully.

"Trolls?" Minerva asked skeptically. "Really, I could transfigure something more intelligent than that. There's a reason 'T' is the lowest failing grade."

"There really ought to be something that requires more than brute strength to get past," Severus said quietly.

"Yes, I agree," Albus said, pleased that the Potions professor had touched on such a subject. "There ought to be tests to prove strength, but also—"

"Intelligence," squeaked Flitwick. "Wisdom!"

"Cunning," Snape added smoothly. "Logic, perhaps."

"Loyalty," Pomona put in. "No one that's not loyal to the school and to its headmaster"—she gave a sanctimonious nod to Albus, who blushed slightly—"should be able to get through to this Stone."

"Let us not put aside all value of bravery," Minerva put in sharply.

"Yes, they must all be accounted for in anyone wishing to get to the stone," Albus agreed. "May I therefore have other suggestions as to what should be in place to protect the Stone?"

"I have some extra sprouts of Devil's Snare at the moment," Pomona volunteered. "Perhaps you could place them under the trapdoor."

"Thank you, Pomona, I'm sure that would be excellent."

"I believe I can find some more complicated locking charms than _Alohomora_," Filius suggested. "Perhaps I can enchant some keys."

"You could make it even more difficult by making them fly and having broomsticks to—"

"Is your mind always so irrevocably connected to quidditch, Rolanda?" Severus asked dryly.

"I'd be interested to hear about your ideas, Madam Hooch," Filius countered.

"Are there other enchantments any of you would be willing to contribute?" Albus asked to the room at large. He noticed that Argus flinched slightly at the word enchantments.

"You know I've never been very good at that sort of thing, Dumbledore," the Muggle Studies professor said with a sigh. "I'll support anything you care to protect within these walls, but I can't help you defend it. I'm no great caster of spells."

"Nor am I," put in Irma Pince, "but I would be happy to do any research you require."

"Thank you, Irma," Albus acknowledged.

"I'm sure I could put together a puzzle and brew a few potions as a test for logic and cunning," Severus offered.

Albus nodded, and cleared his throat again. "I am glad to have so many wonderful ideas. Minerva, could I ask you to organize the planning of this project? I wish to have it finished by the time the students arrive next week. There are five chambers leading to the one in which I have hidden the Stone. I think that one test per chamber should be enough.

"Now, are there any concerns about the coming year? Are there any questions we need to address?"

"Is it true that Harry Potter will be attending this year?"

Filius' squeak of excitement provoked several murmured comments, and numerous mentions of his parents, Lily and James Potter.

"I knew it," Sibyll spoke up in her most mystical voice. "I have foreseen his coming, a coming that will change the very nature of Hogwarts!" Few paid her any attention, and Albus was certain the Minerva gave a snort of annoyance.

"Yes," Albus answered simply, "It is true." He did not miss the roll of Severus' eyes, and knew the potions master was most likely praying that the boy was the complete opposite of his father.

"Are there to be any special measures regarding the boy?" Pomona asked, somewhat suspiciously; Pomona was of the opinion that all students should be treated exactly alike.

"I have not anticipated the need for any, but I will most certainly inform you if I should change my mind," Albus said obliquely. "Are there any other concerns that do not involve Harry Potter?"

"Peeves, Professor," voiced Argus. "Is that vile poltergeist to still be allowed to wreak havoc on this castle?" he demanded.

Albus sighed. "I have told you before, Argus, there is a use for everything that is in this castle, and that includes Peeves."

"I should like to restrict the loaning of library books to two weeks instead of three this year, Albus," Irma declared.

"If that is your wish, Irma," Albus acquiesced. "Poppy? You have sufficient supplies for this term?"

"Yes, headmaster," Poppy answered with a bob of her head. "Though I do have need of a few herbs that Pomona can readily supply."

Albus nodded as Pomona expressed her willingness. "Severus? You have the potion ingredients for the term, or shall I write to the apothecary?"

"Everything is there, headmaster."

"Excellent. Any other concerns?"

"The punishments, professor," Argus spoke in a strangled sort of voice. "Are you quite sure that whipping would be against the ministry statute—"

"Yes, Argus," Dumbledore said emphatically. "There will be detentions, the same as last year. In most circumstances, that is the extent of necessary chastisement."

Argus mumbled something incoherent about the Weasley twins, but gave in.

"If that is everything, the meeting is adjourned," Albus announced. "I have every faith in your capabilities and believe this term shall be one of the finest Hogwarts has ever seen."

"You say that every year, Albus," Minerva reminded him.

"Yes, but the years just keep improving," he responded with a smile.

A week later, Albus was pleased to hear the faint sounds of students entering the castle. The sun set quite magnificently that summer evening, and Albus was just barely reaching for the tattered old sorting hat when there came a knock on his office door. "Enter," he called cheerfully as ever, and Minerva McGonagall burst into the room, looking flustered.

"Albus, we still need the sorting hat, and the students are waiting in the room off the Entrance Hall—"

"Calm down, Minerva. It is quite traditional to make the first years even more nervous by making them wait, am I right?"

Minerva glared at him, but nodded.

"Was there anything else that was upsetting you?" Albus asked genially.

"Peeves," the Transfiguration professor responded shortly. "He's been terrorizing the house elves again, not to mention pouring frog spawn all over the entrance hall. Filius only barely managed to vanish it in time. And he actually tried to light the head table on fire with some of those ridiculous floating candles. Honestly, Albus, why you insist that wretched poltergeist stay in the castle—"

"Peeves has his uses," Albus said quietly, remembering all the times the poltergeist had lightened up the atmosphere of the castle when it was otherwise gloomy with the quiet of exams or lack of students. "Are you quite sure there's nothing else that's upsetting you, Minerva?"

"It's—there's not—you did see the paper today, did you not, Dumbledore?" she burst out.

"Minerva, we knew there would be another article right when term started. I would also venture to guess that there will be another after young Harry Potter has been sorted into his house. After that, the excitement will die down. It always does."

Minerva was still breathing rather heavily. "I know that, but Severus . . . "

Albus smiled, knowing full well of the professional rivalry that existed between his Potions master and deputy headmistress. "You realize, of course, that the boy might well be sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, and then you two will have nothing to argue about—other than which of the two of you the boy prefers, at any rate. While rumors are almost always restricted to polar opposites, Minerva, you must realize that real life is not."

Professor McGonagall let out a breath, nodding in agreement. "Still, Albus, you can't deny that he will honor whichever house he ends up in, even before ever having to do anything."

"I am sure that many have him pegged as one of the future greats," Albus confirmed, "But we will never know if we sit in my office debating it the entire evening. Shall we go down?"

Minerva gestured in the affirmative graciously enough. He left her in the Entrance Hall and made his way to the Great Hall, where the tables were already scenes of happy reunions of students that had been away all summer. He hummed to himself as he strode the length of the hall to the high table, waving at the Weasley twins as he passed. Carefully, he set the sorting hat on the stool that one of the other teachers had brought out. He greeted his fellow professors at the table, with a nod to Quirenius (who seemed to be trembling), and sat down in his seat at the center. A few minutes later, Minerva was leading in the new students.

Ah, there he was. Most definitely his father's son, if looks were anything to judge by. But his eyes were Lily's. Albus noted with some amusement that he was standing near a redheaded boy that had to be the newest Weasley. He stifled a chuckle as the redhead turned around to glare at a bushy-haired girl behind him, who had made a comment about the enchanted ceiling.

Harry looked quite as nervous as any of the other first years. Perhaps he did not have James' confidence, then? Though as he remembered it, Lily had been quite nervous at the sorting her first year, and had developed her confidence much later. Time would tell, he reminded himself as Minerva began calling the students forward.

Albus smiled a bit as the muggle-born girl that had made the comment about the enchanted ceiling was sorted into Gryffindor. He'd have guessed Ravenclaw of someone who apparently read _Hogwarts, A History_ for entertainment over the summer.

A haughty-looking blond boy, Draco Malfoy, was immediately sorted into Slytherin. Albus frowned slightly as he took a closer look at him. He was, no doubt, very like his father. Albus wondered if the boy's years at Hogwarts could, perhaps, prevent him from following his father's ways in the Dark Arts—not that anyone could prove Lucius had supported Voldemort. Perhaps the son merely looked like his father.

Ah, but it was Harry's turn. Albus sat up straight, gazing intently at the boy who looked so much like his father. Harry was gazing around the hall in puzzlement at the whispers as he approached the stool. He wasn't comfortable, then, with standing out. That boded well—or so Albus hoped. There—the hat was on his head. Albus waited . . . and waited . . . Not like his father then? James had been a shoe-in for Gryffindor. Surreptitiously, he focused on the hat using legilimency.

_Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that . . . No? Well, if you're sure, better be_ . . .

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Albus smiled widely. Yes, if the boy's choice was anything to judge by, he was very much like his father. His doubts allayed for the moment, he relaxed and listened calmly to the rest of the sorting, noting the level of each new student's anxiety. The Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor as well, and looked quite happy to sit next to the bespectacled boy with whom he had so obviously become friends.

When the last student had been sorted, Minerva rolled up her scroll of parchment and nodded at Albus to stand and say a few words as she removed the hat and stool to the antechamber. His stomach gave a rumble as he stood, feeling rather unfairly obligated.

"Welcome," he began, smiling at all the students. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words"—Albus paused briefly. A few words? As far as he knew, anyone who said that had considerably more to say than a few words. No doubt that was what Minerva had in mind. His stomach grumbled again. He smiled again as he made a decision and continued. "And here they are: nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak. Thank you." He sat down, and gave the signal the house elves were certainly awaiting eagerly.

"Albus," Minerva began reprovingly as the food appeared on the plates, "Your start of term speech is meant to include a review of quidditch trials, the forbidden forest, and Filch's complaint about no magic in the corridors. Surely you haven't forgotten—"

"I did read the note you left on my desk, Minerva," Albus replied as he helped himself to mashed potatoes, "But my stomach was speaking so loudly that I was rather afraid it would drown out my words. Best to deal with that after the food."

Minerva's lips twitched slightly, and that was enough for Albus.

When he judged everyone well fed, Albus did get up to make a proper speech remembering to tell them to stay away from the third floor corridor, and then sent the students to their beds with a cheery "off you trot."


	3. Finding Fluffy

Sorry about the delay; I needed some direct quotes from the book, and up until recently, the only copy I've been able to work with is in Spanish--and my translating skills leave a lot to be desired. As always, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. Next item of business: I was astonished and delighted by the reviews I got. If you didn't review (shame on you), I'm sure the review button hasn't moved from where it usually is, hint, hint.

**Loop-da-loopy**: Thanks, here's the next one as requested!

**Alania**: Yes, Dumbledore is wonderful, isn't he? Just let me know as soon as you think anyone's tiptoeing into the scary realm of Out-of-Character. I really hate it when that happens. And I definitely agree that spelling is a rare commodity among fanfiction authors. ;D

**Danielle**: Thanks. I'm not planning to make Snape and Harry friends--I'm trying to keep this as canon as possible. It would be extremely out of character for them to be more than civil to each other, and even civility is stretching it. This is pretty much going to follow the books, but from Dumbledore's point of view.

**Alix33**: I had no idea of Madam Hooch's first name either, and as far as I know, it's not in the books (not the American versions, anyway). I found it while I was perusing The Harry Potter Lexicon, along with Quirrell's first name, which isn't mentioned either. Anyway, I'm glad you approve so far.

**Pixelfish**: It's the philosopher's stone in Britain, and the original legend of a stone that can turn metal into gold and make you immortal is definitely the philosopher's stone, not the sorcerer's stone, so I'm following that. Thanks for reviewing.

**shannyauburn**: Thanks, I'll update as often as possible!

**Chance**: Glad you like it, I'm trying to write as steadily as possible. Thanks for reviewing.

And now . . . on with the story!

* * *

Albus looked up from the latest letter from Cornelius as the door to his office slammed open, emitting an enraged Severus Snape. Feeling it would be best to confront such anger with composure, he said mildly, "Pleasant evening, Severus. Won't you sit down?"

"That—_boy_," fumed Snape, "is exactly like his father. He—"

"Might I assume that you are speaking of Harry?" Albus interrupted placidly.

Severus shot him a look full of frustration. "Well, that incompetent Weasley boy is a bit like his father as well, I suppose, but yes, this is about Potter."

Albus sighed and put away the letter from Fudge, placating the lingering ministry owl with a treat. "What has Harry done?"

"The boy's cheek is intolerable. If he cannot show respect for his teachers—"

"Severus," Albus said gently, "I think you are coloring your image of Harry with your memories of James. You must realize that they are not the same person."

Severus glowered for a moment, then sank into the chair that Albus had offered in the first place. "Minerva tells me he's to be on the Gryffindor quidditch team."

"Yes," Albus answered, peering at him closely over his half-moon spectacles.

"Headmaster, if you allow Potter to bend the rules about first-years not having brooms or playing quidditch, it will go to his head even more than his fame already has. From what I hear, Minerva only discovered his flying talents because he was disobeying direct instructions. If you allow him to get away with this, Potter will start thinking that he can break any rules he likes." Severus had calmed down and was speaking in a cold matter-of-fact voice, but Albus could tell he was still angry. Severus never allowed his temper to get the better of him, but that didn't mean it didn't have its own detrimental effects.

"I have been watching the boy, Severus. I've had several of the portraits reporting back to me on him, and as you are aware, I observed his classes the first week. Invisible, of course." Albus registered Snape's nod, then continued. "I do not think that this will go to Harry's head. Harry is not James, Severus. James arrived at this school the only child of doting parents, and Harry has been neglected for most of his life. I agree that the sudden fame will—and has already—provided changes to his personality, but the results of those changes still remain to be seen. Do try to give him a grace period before you judge him, Severus."

The door to the office swung open again, this time letting in a tabby cat with spectacle markings around its eyes.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Albus said courteously as the cat changed into his transfiguration professor with a slight pop.

"Good evening, Albus," she replied, though she didn't look as though it was good. "I need to discuss something with you. About Potter and Malfoy."

"Indeed," Severus said, and Albus was certain that his interest was deeply aroused. "The headmaster and I were just discussing Potter, as a matter of fact. In particular, his lack of respect for his teachers."

Minerva closed her eyes as though praying for patience, then turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, I have just heard that Potter was goaded into accepting a challenge for a duel. With Malfoy," she added with a certain amount of asperity towards Snape.

"If Draco challenged Potter to a duel, it was most likely because Potter made a remark he shouldn't," Severus observed coolly. "At any rate, I doubt he intends to actually face Potter, as dueling is against school rules."

"If he doesn't intend to act on it, why challenge him?" Minerva countered. "Unless, of course, it was simply to get Potter in trouble, in which case—"

"Both students are at fault for even agreeing to duel," Albus intervened. "But we must not forget that nothing has happened yet. It might simply blow over." Both Minerva and Severus looked as though they doubted this, but Albus continued. "Where is the duel to take place, Minerva?"

"In the trophy room at midnight."

"I will take care of this matter," Albus said, coming to a sudden decision. "You may both rest assured that should punishments indeed be deserved, they will be dealt."

Minerva nodded in satisfaction, but Severus looked skeptical, something Albus was quick to notice. "_Trust_ me, Severus," he said quietly.

Severus hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Very well, headmaster."

"Good. Now that's settled, would either of you like a lemon drop?" Albus beamed at them, not even stopping as they refused as politely as possible and left the room.

When the office was empty, Fawkes gave a musical cry and flew to Albus' lap to be stroked. Albus gently rubbed the bird's head, causing the phoenix to croon with pleasure as the headmaster turned back to replying to Cornelius' letter. Dumbledore wasn't paying much attention to the task, however. He was lost in thought about the person that had been worrying him for over a month: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

He had watched Harry during the first week of classes, tailing him unobtrusively (which, of course, meant invisibly) nearly everywhere he went. Some might have said the precaution was extreme, but Albus didn't think so. If the prophecy had any bearing on future events, then making sure the boy's character was in place was of utmost importance. Once he was sure, Albus could leave the boy well enough alone.

Albus finished the letter, and gave the ministry owl another treat for waiting before tying the letter to its leg and letting it fly out of the window. He transferred Fawkes to his normal perch, and stood to retrieve his stone Pensieve from its cupboard. Prodding at its contents with his wand, he watched impassively as a silver figure wearing many shawls and bangles rose from it. There it was again, in that hollow voice: "_And either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives . . . _"

Fawkes came over to him again and rubbed his scarlet head against the side of Albus' face, demanding more attention. As he resumed stroking the phoenix, Albus wondered. The few others who had heard of the prophecy considered it to have been fulfilled already. Voldemort had chosen to attack Harry, and the killing curse had rebounded upon him. Simple enough: Voldemort faces baby Harry, and Harry wins and Voldemort dies.

But what about all that about Voldemort marking the boy as his equal? That surely hadn't happened, had it? Unless, of course, that by choosing to attack Harry Voldemort had been marking him as an equal.

Albus didn't think it could possibly be all that simple. There were those vague, disturbing rumors, for one thing. That dark force deep in the forests of Albania . . . Although, Quirenius had reported that he'd seen no sign of it. "The th-thing m-m-must have l-l-left," he'd said. But where would it have gone?

"You know, Albus, if you're going to catch those two miscreants, you'd best be going," said the lazy voice of Phineas Nigellus. "If you let them on their own, they might even wander into that third floor corridor. Then they'd really be in trouble."

"I didn't think time had passed that quickly," Albus murmured, peering at the grandfather clock in one corner. He paused, considering Phineas' words. Then, with a wave of his wand, he was invisible, and heading out of his office door.

He'd been wondering for some time now how Harry might deal with pressure or danger. He was coping well enough in his classes, but there were of course some lessons that couldn't be taught in a classroom.

_If you let them on their own, the might even wander into that third floor corridor_. Phineas' words circled around Albus' mind. He didn't think Harry and Ron would be so foolish; they had mistakenly tried to get into the corridor on their second day, but since being caught by Argus, were reluctant to go anywhere near it. Harry was one to avoid trouble enough that he would not try a second time to get through that door. Unless . . .

It was the perfect test of character, really. And nothing could possibly go wrong, as Albus himself would be there to make sure it didn't.

Albus made his way quietly to the Gryffindor common room. He'd left early enough (despite Phineas' misguided warnings) that he would be able to follow them from there.

Sure enough, as he approached the Fat Lady's empty portrait, it opened. Harry and Ron climbed out followed—Albus chuckled to himself—by an irate Hermione Granger, who was thoroughly berating them about being irresponsible. Her protestations of their stupidity and recklessness were only broken when she turned around and realized that the Fat Lady was gone and the portrait had swung shut behind her.

"Now what am I going to do?" Hermione wailed.

Ron, with a look of acute irritation, told her it was her problem, and he and Harry promptly walked away.

Albus had a sudden burst of inspiration. Harry and Ron wouldn't know how to get through the door to the third floor corridor, but Hermione (being the keen student she was) would.

Hermione leaned huffily against the wall. She seemed to be quite determined to let Harry and Ron face the consequences of their own actions, and to stay put until the Fat Lady returned.

Albus shook his head. That wouldn't do. With a subtle wave of his invisible wand, he gently pushed a suggestion into her mind. If she stayed where she was, she might get caught by Filch, mightn't she? And she wouldn't want that. And it was so lonely, waiting here in the dark . . .

Hermione bit her lip, resolve teetering. She looked at Harry and Ron's retreating backs, then back up at the Fat Lady's empty canvas. Then, with a sigh and what might have been a muttered curse, she tore off after the two boys.

Albus chuckled to himself as he followed her, checking to be sure his presence was a completely silent one. He caught up with the three just in time to hear the end of Hermione's justifying argument.

"—If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

Ron was both furious and indignant. "You've got some nerve—"

"Shut up, both of you! I heard something." Albus was proud to see that Harry had been looking around carefully rather than getting involved in what was fast becoming a loud argument.

The three turned to see another first year boy, who was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, and snoring in a noisy, snuffily sort of way. It was almost understandable that Ron mistook the noise for that of Mrs. Norris, Argus' paranoid cat.

Albus watched interestedly as Harry sorted out whether Neville would come with them or not. Neville was frightened of being alone in the dark, and though Harry gave in, Ron issued a stern warning to both Neville and Hermione that they had better not get them caught. Albus smiled faintly at this vehement threat. Little did they know how guarded they were from being discovered by Argus tonight.

The headmaster followed them invisibly to the trophy room, only once pausing to send Mrs. Norris off in another direction so that she would not discover the miscreant nighttime wanderers. The four were being quite helpful; not so much as a scuffle, they proceeded as quietly as possible to the trophy room.

They entered the out-of-bounds room to be confronted by little more than moonlight and shadows—Malfoy wasn't there yet.

Albus considered this for a moment. He'd suspected, of course, that the Slytherin boy wouldn't show up, but he rather wanted to get the group to leave so that he could direct them where he chose. How to get them away without noticing where they were going?

A quick spell did the trick, and then Albus waited again.

"Maybe he's chickened out," Ron suggested in a whisper after a few more minutes.

A noise made the four jump, and Albus smiled knowingly as they heard the caretaker enter the room, speaking wheezily to Mrs. Norris. That got them moving. Neville and Ron knocked over a suit of armor, but Albus was able to silence it enough so that, while Filch came running, it was not the immediate capture it might have been. He likewise blocked Harry's yell of "RUN!" from Argus' ears.

Then they were off. Albus managed to keep pace with Harry (though panting slightly and reminding himself that he was no longer ninety). He was quite sure that Harry had no idea where he was going, which was excellent for guiding the quartet unobtrusively. At each crucial turning, Albus gave a subtle flick of his wand, making one passage less obvious so that the running students often overlooked it. He even made sure that the tapestry to a hidden passageway—which he knew Harry had never seen before—fluttered invitingly, ensuring that the fleeing students took it.

Finally, the need for a breather and the relative safety of being away from the trophy room made the group pause. Although grateful for the respite, Albus immediately cast around for a way to get them moving again. This time, he didn't have to summon anyone.

Peeves came shooting out of a classroom, squealing gleefully when he saw the four students. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty," he sang, cackling madly.

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please." Albus shook his head and suppressed a chuckle. Even after only a few weeks, Harry really should know better by now than to ask something of the poltergeist directly.

"Should tell Filch, I should," Peeves continued, in a would-be pious voice, "It's for your own good, you know."

Albus, of course, knew that Peeves would do no such thing. The funny little man would do absolutely nothing to help the cantankerous caretaker if he could possibly help it; Peeves would help Argus when Severus awarded points to Gryffindor of his own free will. The four panic-stricken students, however, had clearly not realized this.

Ron was the first to lose his patience. "Get out of the way!"

That did it, of course. They were forced to flee as Peeves belted out the tidings to the whole school. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Albus made sure that the only place for them to go was the door right at the end of the corridor—locked, as he knew it would be.

Ron moaned something about them being doomed, and Hermione snapped at them to get out of the way. She performed the _Alohomora_ charm just as Albus took off the more advanced spells, and the lock clicked open.

They rushed in and practically slammed the door shut again—Albus only just managed to get in behind them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione pressed their ears to the door, quite preoccupied with getting away from the fast approaching trouble that was Argus Filch.

That left Neville as the only one to look around to see what was behind them.

Albus was suddenly glad that the trio had brought Neville along—if they had left without even noticing what he wanted them to see, then the whole trip would have been for nothing. Neville froze in panic as Albus quickly cast a spell over the giant, three-headed dog to keep it from reacting too quickly. He stayed that way for a few minutes while the others made sure that Filch had disappeared, and then tugged frantically on Harry's sleeve.

The invisible headmaster watched the panicked faces of the first-years intently. Would Harry freeze, as Neville had done? The spell was wearing off now, but Harry couldn't seem to move—

Then, the instant was over, and Harry yanked the door open. The other three fell outside with him, and Albus stepped quickly over them before Harry slammed the door shut.

There was no discussion as the four ran back to Gryffindor tower, but Albus was at least pleased at the way Harry had reacted. He smiled at the Fat Lady, making himself visible to her for a brief instant as she inquired where they had been. She swung open at once as Harry gasped the password at her.

Inside, Ron was the first to get his breath back. "What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school? If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Albus actually pondered this for a moment. Perhaps he should get Hagrid to take Fluffy for a walk every couple of nights. He certainly didn't want to neglect the animal's well-being.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" Hermione snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

Ah, that made Albus very glad of the girl's presence indeed.

"The floor?" Harry asked. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, _not_ the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

Yes, a good thing indeed that Hermione Granger had come along, Albus thought. If the girl could teach Harry to notice those sorts of things even in a moment of danger, Harry might well surpass his father's reputation as an excellent auror.

He watched Harry's expression as the girl went up to bed, and could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He'd listened to a conversation between Harry and Ron about the article that had turned up in the newspaper on the Gringotts break-in, and of course he knew Harry had been with Hagrid the day he'd retrieved Nicholas' Stone. Harry was putting two and two together, Albus concluded with pride.

As Albus retreated to his office for the night, he thought once again about the night's events. Many of the teachers would undoubtedly claim that it was very irresponsible of him. Which was why, of course, they wouldn't find out. Albus knew very well what he was doing. It had long since occurred to him that if any Dark wizard in history could want the Stone hidden in his castle, Voldemort would. And the unsettling events that Nicholas had described in the way of visitors just happened to coincide with the disappearance of the dark force he'd been watching in Albania all this time.

Harry would be all right. Albus firmly believed that if someone had the ability to uncover a bit of knowledge, he or she was worthy of the trust and discretion that came with that knowledge. That was why, so many years ago, when James Potter and Sirius Black had discovered the truth about one of their friends' disappearances, he had not used a memory charm, as Remus had begged him.

He did not need to interfere any more in Harry's life at the moment, Albus decided. He would wait to see what Harry did with what he'd found out.


	4. Halloween, or Troll Troubles

Um, hello again. It's been a criminally long time, I know, and that of course means that several of you will be disinclined to continue reading, or leave reviews, or something along those lines. I'm really sorry. All I can say is that involved an incredibly long bout of writer's block--on not only this, but _all_ my current writing projects--and a root canal. I'll be doing my best to ensure that it doesn't happen again. In the mean time, anything you can recognize still isn't mine, and yes, I do still appreciate reviews. And speaking of appreciation:

**Danielle**: Yes, I was surprised no one had done this already. At least, not that I could find. And the chapter length is a result of experimentation. If you read my other two stories, you'll understand.

**Alania**: I must admit, I was a bit insensed when I realized they'd changed the name in the American version. Yes, they probably do think Americans are all stupid. Then again, they probably have a track record to go on. However, I'm very fond of all classic mythology (my mom never really understood why I spent money on a book of Irish fairy tales, but that's her), and therefore thought it made much more sense to refer to it as the Philosopher's Stone. I didn't know the bit about the sherbert lemons--thanks for that, I always wondered how Dumbledore's password changed from second to fourth year. Mystery solved, it's just the Americans changing things around again. Sadly, I'm just lazy enough (I'm sure they could find an American joke to insert here) that I don't want to have to go back and change all the references to lemon drops, so they're staying lemon drops. Besides, I rather like lemon drops. Thanks for the review!

**Chance21**: No, definitely not! I will most certainly be continuing until the end of sixth year. Whether they all come in the same fic or in sequels depends, though. How much do you like long fics, anyway?

**alix33**: Okay, according to the Harry Potter Lexicon J.K. Rowling said in an interview that Dumbledore was around 150 years old (this was during the first book, I think, so he'd be around 156 when he died). They have his birthdate listed as around 1840. I have absolutely no sense of wizarding years, and there's a very good reason I'm not majoring in anything math-related. However, if you take the age 150 proportionally to a person who only lived to be 85, 90 would translate to something like 51. All I meant, really, was that he was feeling slightly winded and not as young as he used to be. But I'm glad that you're reading that deeply into it. Continue, please!

**shannyauburn**: Thanks! I'm still going on it, I promise, no matter how long it takes to update!

**Liliana**: Yes! Second year and so on, right up to the end of sixth! Although, given my track record, it may take me a while to get there. (grins sheepishly). Thanks for reading.

**Arica, Princess of Rivendell**: Ah, yes. "Update," I think you said. Ahem. Trying. Trying really hard, I promise. It drove me absolutely insane that I got writer's block on all five of my writing projects at once. And then there was that deal with the root canal . . . But anyway, here it is. And may all the muses and powers that be prevent me from getting such a long bout of writer's block ever again!

* * *

A portrait cleared its throat, and Albus looked up. "Ah, Pyrites. Good afternoon. And how is young Harry doing?"

Pyrites gazed at him guilelessly from his position in Phineas Nigellus' painting, fiddling with his immaculate white gloves. He removed his top hat before speaking. "He's well enough, I suppose, Dumbledore," he said lazily, though Albus could tell, as always, just how careful Pyrites was with his speech. "Healthy, excited for Halloween, doing reasonably well in classes, though he's no genius."

From beside the guest in his frame, Phineas made a derisive noise. "He's not exactly living up to his parents' reputations, is he? That curse probably addled his brains."

Albus chose not to comment, for he knew very well that magical or mental prowess did not always surface when expected, but could surpass any expectations when it was least anticipated. Let them wait and see, Albus decided. Harry would be a great wizard yet, though it might not ever show in a classroom. Instead, he asked, "Anything unusual today?"

Pyrites gave an elegant shrug, examining the ornate top of his cane. This, of course, meant that he had something of note to report, but would get to it in his own due, drawn-out time. "His class started levitation in Charms."

"That's the class he has with the Ravenclaws, I believe," Albus encouraged, nodding.

Pyrites looked up, and there was a slight gleam in his eyes. "Yes, the Ravenclaws were all there, but the first one to get the charm right was that Hermione Granger. A Gryffindor, I believe." He looked around at the assorted portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses expectantly, and was rewarded with soft cheers and exclamations of pride from previous Gryffindors and noises of disbelief and dismissal from previous Ravenclaws.

Albus sighed, all too used to this game of Pyrites'. The well-to-do wizard had not attended Hogwarts himself, having been the only child of doting and somewhat paranoid parents during the nineteenth century. However, he was quite familiar with the rivalries the Houses represented, and enjoyed stringing them along at every opportunity by spreading rumors and gossip. "Was there anything else, Pyrites?" Albus asked pointedly.

Pyrites raised his eyebrows. "Oh, young Potter managed it too, eventually, never fear, Dumbledore."

Albus waited expectantly, and Pyrites finally continued.

"And I think you ought to give some serious thought to the people that boy has around him as his friends," Pyrites added in an offhand sort of voice.

"Just what do you mean by that, Pyrites?"

"It's just that that Weasley boy is awfully careless about the remarks he spews forth," Pyrites said, and Albus could sense his disgust and concern for one who was so lenient with words as no to keep them on a tight leash.

"What did he say? Did he offend Harry?"

"No, he made a rather rude comment about that Granger girl."

"Dear, dear, what did he do, mention her muggle parentage?" Phineas asked from beside him. Phineas could never quite understand why Pyrites might find such a thing rude.

"Not at all," Pyrites replied, affecting unconcern. "That would be rather . . . un-Gryffindorish of him, wouldn't it? No, he simply called her a know-it-all and said it was no wonder she didn't have any friends."

Albus sat up. "And what did Harry do? Did he say anything?"

Pyrites, he could tell, was quite amused by how intent he was. "Well, he didn't directly discount what the Weasley boy said, if that's what you're looking for," he commented, and paused to see if Albus' expression would alter. When it didn't, he continued, "But once that Granger girl had run off in tears, he did look as though he felt rather guilty about it. Made some awkward comment to Weasley about how she'd heard him. The boy isn't terribly gifted verbally, Dumbledore."

"P-P-Professor D-D-D-Dumbledore."

The portraits feigned sleep on cue.

Albus looked around to see Professor Quirrell smiling tremulously at him. "Good evening, Quirenius. No need to be so quiet, I didn't even hear you come in." He smiled kindly over his spectacles. "Would you like a lemon drop?"

Quirenius gave a timid little laugh. "Oh, n-no th-th-thank you, Albus." He was rubbing his hands together nervously. "It's j-just that S-S-Severus s-sent me t-to get you. It's t-t-time for the H-H-Halloween f-feast."

Albus glanced at his watch. "So it is. Shall we go down to the Great Hall, then?"

"Y-yes, indeed, P-professor." As soon as they had descended the spiral staircase and emerged from behind the gargoyle that guarded Albus' office, Quirenius gave a little start. "I—I f-f-forgot something in m-my o-o-office, Albus. I'll m-m-m-meet you d-down there in a b-b-bit."

Albus smiled kindly at him. "Very well, Quirenius, but don't be too long. I know for a fact that the house elves have outdone themselves for this particular feast. I wouldn't want you to miss it."

"C-c-course n-not, Professor." Quirenius' lips twitched in a nervous smile before he hurried away.

Humming to himself, Albus continued down the corridor until he came upon Peeves grinning wickedly as he floated over a couple of first-year Hufflepuffs, pelting them with walking sticks that he'd nicked from Minerva's Transfiguration classroom. One of the girls, Hannah Abbott if Albus recalled her name correctly, squealed and ducked around a suit of armor to avoid a flying walking stick.

"Ickle firsties, what fun! Happy Halloween from Peevesie, treats and tricksies!"

"Peeves," Albus called.

The poltergeist was so startled to see the headmaster strolling down the hall that he let the walking sticks fall, and nearly fell out of the air himself. "Good evening, Professorhead, sir," he said in an oily voice quite different from the one he'd been using to tease the students.

"Good evening, Peeves. You're having a pleasant Halloween, I trust. Though I must ask you to allow my students to pass. I believe Professor McGonagall's supply closet is also missing some walking sticks," Albus said pleasantly but pointedly.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead. Of course, your Headness, sir. I was just borrowing them, you see, but I'll return them right away, sir."

"Off you go, then. And Peeves?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbly-diddly-dore?" Peeves asked, half-upside-down as he retrieved the walking sticks.

"As long as you're planning your Halloween jokes, remember that if you try to remove the weapons on the suits of armor, you'll automatically be expelled from the castle."

"I remember, Professorhead, sir," Peeves said, looking rather disgruntled, then he blew a loud raspberry and zoomed backward down the hall, walking sticks in tow.

Albus turned to the cowering students, one of whom murmured a barely audible thanks. "Well, now that's settled, would you three accompany me to the Great Hall? I don't think it would be very wise of me, as the headmaster, to miss one of the greatest celebrations Hogwarts holds during the school year. And you certainly won't want to miss it yourselves," he said, smiling as they fell into step with him. "You know, Hagrid, our gamekeeper, spends the entire year growing magnificent pumpkins to provide the Great Hall with its wonderful jack-o-lanterns."

The first-years were too timid to respond, but smiled nervously. They looked relieved when they reached the doors to the Great Hall, where they scurried off to the Hufflepuff table. Waving merrily to them, he swept up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables up to the high table where Minerva was looking at him disapprovingly, no doubt for being late.

"Pleasant evening, Minerva," he said as he pulled out his chair to sit down.

"You're late, Albus."

"Ah, but it's such a nice evening for a fashionably late entrance. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go ahead and start the feast, shall I?" With a smile at her thin-lipped expression, he stood to say a few words and gave the signal to the house elves to send the food up.

As Minerva passed him the potatoes, Albus glanced over at the Gryffindor table. The Weasley twins had their heads together, poring over a piece of parchment, as far as he could tell, until their friend Lee Jordan distracted them with a story, during which George discreetly tapped the parchment with his wand, folded it up, and put it away. Albus wondered if he should be expecting any mischief from them in the next couple of days.

A little way down from them sat Harry and Ron. Harry looked as though he were having the time of his life, which made Albus think that the Dursleys must not have celebrated Halloween very often or very exuberantly. Perhaps that had something to do with it having been Lily's favorite holiday.

"Knut for your thoughts, Albus," Minerva said to him when he asked her to pass the rolls.

"Oh, keep the knut, Minerva," he replied, even though he knew she hadn't been serious. "I was thinking that young Harry's mother was always particularly fond of the Halloween feast."

Minerva smiled knowingly. "Unless, of course, it involved Potter and Black bewitching the plates to turn into bats halfway through."

"Oh, no, Minerva. That was their seventh year, you remember, and she ended up laughing," Filius chimed in to remind her.

Albus smiled in agreement. "Now, the year before that, when James and Sirius carved all the jack-o-lanterns to have her face, I recall her being quite angry."

"I never did see why she was so upset at that," Filius said. "It was a compliment, really."

As the conversation drifted to stories of other past students, Albus glanced back at the Gryffindor table. There were Harry and Ron, but he noticed for the first time that Hermione Granger was missing from the group of first-years. He was about to point this out to Minerva when the great double doors that led out to the Entrance Hall burst open, spilling forth a nearly hysterical Quirenius Quirrell.

"T-troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know . . . " Quirenius managed before he sank away in a dead faint.

Minerva's comment of "What on earth was Quirenius doing in the dungeons?" was the only thing Albus heard before the chaos of the students overwhelmed all conversation.

"Silence," Albus called, making himself heard above the din. He calmly directed the students to return to their dormitories, and began organizing the teachers to search the castle. "Poppy, will you see that Professor Quirrell is all right? Now, the rest of you will follow me to the dungeons. Except you, Minerva. I'd like you make sure there are no stragglers in the hallways, and we'll be needing someone to make sure the troll hasn't made its way upstairs. Follow me, now," he called to the rest, and was gratified to see them all draw their wands.

As they passed through the Entrance Hall, Albus eyed Pyrites craning his neck in one of the picture frames to catch a glimpse of him. A slight nod from him, and Pyrites was off to keep an eye on Harry. "Spread out in twos and threes," Albus directed. "A troll won't be too hard to find, but I want you all ready."

It took Albus perhaps fifteen minutes to realize that there was no troll in any of the subterranean rooms. When he came to this conclusion, he left Filius with Professors Vector and Kettleburn and proceeded back up to the Entrance Hall to find Minerva.

It was not at all to his liking that he found she'd left her post. He was about to send off a messenger spell to her when he heard the banging. Pausing, he listened closely. It was something very loud, which could only mean the troll, but muffled enough that it must have been on—what, the second floor? He set off.

When Albus reached the girls' bathroom on the second floor, it was to see Harry and Ron's backs disappearing around a corner, an unconscious troll in the room beyond, and Minerva and Severus in the middle of a heated argument in the doorway.

"They were out of bounds," Severus insisted. "With their stupidity, they were lucky they weren't killed, and if they'd been any more irresponsible, theirs would not have been the only deaths."

"I already took points from Miss Granger for that, Severus! Potter and Weasley showed great courage in coming to the rescue of a fellow student, as ill-advised as the venture might have been." Minerva's nostrils were positively flaring in indignation.

"Perhaps I might interrupt for a moment to ask what happened?" Albus said.

"Potter and Weasley took it into their heads to go after the troll. I suppose they thought they could take it on themselves," Severus said with a great amount of asperity.

"From what Miss Granger says, it was she who thought that, and Potter and Weasley were only trying to get her to safety. It was bad luck they came upon the troll"—here Severus snorted, and Dumbledore made a mental note to look into this reaction later—"but as it is, they handled the situation very well indeed." Minerva looked at Albus defiantly. "I took five points from Granger, but gave five each to Potter and Weasley."

"Well, I won't argue with that," Albus mused.

"P-p-professor D-d-d-dumbledore," came a tremulous voice, and Albus was astonished to see Quirenius, none the worse for his fainting spell, quaking nervously in one of the bathroom's corners. "I'm t-t-terr-rribly s-sorry," he stammered. "It s-s-seems the t-troll wasn't in th-the d-d-dungeons af-after all."

Albus frowned slightly as he considered his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "You look quite pale, Quirenius. Perhaps you ought to go and see Madame Pomfrey."

"I'm q-quite alright, P-p-professor," Quirenius muttered, going paler still. "P-perhaps if I g-g-g-go lie d-down for a b-b-bit."

"Yes, get some rest," Albus said, nodding. "I'll call Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn to dispose of this—er—" he motioned to the troll laying prone on the floor "—creature."

Quirenius departed in a hurry, and Minerva excused herself to go and look in on her students in Gryffindor. Severus, however, lingered. "I'd like a word with you, Headmaster."

"I was just about to suggest as much," Albus said pleasantly. "If you'll just follow me to my office, then, I think it's best we have this conversation away from prying ears."

Snape nodded abruptly and walked briskly behind him. He opened his mouth to speak the moment Albus' office door was safely shut behind them, but Albus interrupted before he could begin.

"You're bleeding, Severus."

The potions master grimaced and looked down at his leg. "I'll deal with it later. Right now I need to talk to you about Quirrell."

Albus sank thoughtfully into his chair and motioned for Snape to take a lemon drop.

Severus ignored the gesture.

"What is it about Quirenius that you feel so uneasy about, Severus?"

"That troll was a diversion," he answered bluntly.

Albus nodded thoughtfully. "For what, do you think?"

"For someone to get a look at what's guarding the Philosopher's Stone."

Albus was silent for several minutes, gazing intently at Severus. In the first few seconds, Severus let his habitual guard down enough for Albus to see, through legilimency, an image of Quirrell opening the door to the third-floor corridor, and Snape being bitten by one of Fluffy's three heads. "You don't trust Quirenius," he said softly.

Severus shook his head.

He sighed, coming to a conclusion that was very sobering indeed to consider. It so happened that, after seeing Quirrell's odd behavior tonight, Albus was rather disinclined to trust the man himself. However, there were immense difficulties in dealing with the problem. Not the least was the fact that Albus had finally hunted down the whereabouts of the dark presence that had hidden out in Albania, using several spells and expensive Dark Detectors in the process. The answers pointed right into Hogwarts itself, to the very man Albus had hired to protect the school against such a force.

Things were dangerous indeed. Thus far, it was only a simple masquerade. Quirrell was content to lie low and teach while he figured out exactly how to get to the Philosopher's Stone. But there was still pressure to act soon. While Albus was fairly confident that he'd never get to it (even if he managed to get past all the other teachers' protective spells, there was still the trick Albus himself intended to employ sometime over the Christmas holidays, as soon as he got his hands on that extraordinary mirror), he'd rather Quirenius didn't try. But on the other hand . . .

"Severus, you of all people should believe in second chances. There is no proof that Quirenius is after the Stone. Upon awakening from his faint, he might just have wanted to be sure that everything was still as it should be."

"But, Professor," Severus said, and Albus could sense the righteous anger behind his voice. He'd _seen_ Quirrell, hadn't he? Then, his emotions were mastered again, his mind as blank to the casual observer as always. "I can't trust Quirrell, Headmaster, but if you insist on doing so, I won't speak against him."

"Thank you, Severus," Albus said quietly, and Severus excused himself. Albus knew, as he watched Severus disappear down the spiralling staircase, that Quirrell was every bit as guilty as Severus said. He also knew that Severus would never understand why Albus did not simply fire Quirrell. The situation was a lot more dangerous that Severus realized. Albus did not know the full extent of the danger himself, but knew enough to go cautiously.

Even before Albus had found the truth about Quirenius, there had been far too many coincidences. The disappearance of the dark force in the forests of Albania corresponded too neatly with Quirrell's trip there. It was also consistent with the first queries Nicholas had received regarding the Stone.

Albus frowned worriedly as he stroked Fawkes. There was another matter to consider: Quirrell might well be under the Imperius Curse, or something else that hindered his ability to act for himself. It might not be accident that Quirenius had come back from his year off with a stutter and a mortal fear of anything scarier than a toothbrush. And Albus would burn Hogwarts to the ground himself before any of the teachers or students inside it were harmed unnecessarily. It was early in the year yet, and the Stone hadn't even been put in its planned place. Quirrell might not have known it, but he wouldn't have gotten anything even if he'd made it past Fluffy. Surely there had to be some way to save everything. If he could only think of it . . .

There was the dignified sound of a throat clearing, and Albus looked up.

Pyrites raised an eyebrow at him from beside Phineas, who looked tolerant of the intrusion, even if he wasn't pleased. "I thought you might want to know that Harry and Ron are in their dormitory finishing off the Halloween feast," he said with an air of smugness, "—with Hermione Granger."

There were several whispers among the portraits. "Indeed?" Albus asked.

"Yes. Whatever they did to that troll, I think they took out their anger on it. And with nothing else to do, it seems they've become friends."

Albus chuckled, feeling his heart go a bit lighter at this news. "Excellent. Harry needs another friend with a sharp head on her shoulders."

Pyrites blinked impassively at him. "Something the matter with your eyes, Dumbledore? They've gone positively twinkly."


	5. Samtsirhc, Ytilibisivni, and Erised

Hello again. It's been longer than it should have been, I know. But not long enough for the standard disclaimer and plea for reviews not to apply. And may I just say, I've been astonished and utterly flattered at the number of reviews I've gotten for this! Thanks to all of you!

**Arica, Princess of Rivendell**: Doing my best to fulfill that request.

**Darth Kottaram**: Thanks, more is definitely on the way!

**Valandar**: I know, I really can't see Dumbledore as being evil or manipulative. I've only ever found one fic where it worked, and even then he was well-meaning. Someone who JKR describes as wandering about Hogwarts humming to himself just can't be anything other than lovable. Glad you like it so far, and hope it continues to live up to such a wonderful compliment.

**danielleharold**: If I replied to you, the review was there. If not, I don't think I got it. Either way, thanks for reviewing this time. I'm glad you like it so far.

**alix33**: How did they get rid of the troll? Um, I have no idea. Maybe they used a shrinking charm and Hagrid let it go in the forest or something. As for the comments on Dumbledore's twinkly eyes--well, first of all, I think they're adorable, too. The problem, however, is that this fic is in Dumbledore's point of view, and he can't exactly see his own eyes twinkling. I wanted to let the reader know that his eyes _were_ twinkling, but that translates into another character commenting on it. Pyrites was the one available, and so the job fell to him. I promise the next time I have a character comment on them, they'll be nicer about it.

**Alania**: Well, Harry did say in the first book that he thought Dumbledore knew just about everything that went on in the castle. Though there are some obvious exceptions, I think it's just possible he suspected Quirrell, though, as mentioned in the last chapter, he was hesitant to act in case Quirrell was under the Imperious Curse.

**Pixelfish**: No, I haven't forgotten about them, it's just been a very long and difficult month of writer's block. What Can You See is still under heavy revision, as I still really dislike the next chapter to be updated. As to your other question, Snape didn't have to tell Dumbledore about him stopping Quirrell because he didn't need to. Dumbledore got it through legilimency. At least, I'm fairly sure I wrote that in. Anyway, Dumbledore knows all that he needs to to be suspicious of Quirrell.

**Biabe Tendou**: Wow, four reviews to reply to. I'm flattered. Let's see--such wonderful compliments! I'm relieved to have portrayed Dumbledore accurately; that's really the hardest part of writing fanfics. I suppose he might have been a bit "troublesome" in chapter 3, but I really do think JKR left room for that interpretation, and I've always found the coincidences in the first book a bit hard to swallow. Ergo, why not have some of them be Dumbledore testing Harry's character just for his peace of mind? Probably not very responsible of him, I'll admit, but in the sixth book he tells Harry off for doing his homeworkinstead of getting that memory of Slughorn's. He does sort of put himself above the system, but as the system is generally blind as well as stupid, that might not be a bad thing. Anyway, thanks for the reviews!

**shannyauburn**: Thanks, the ending was definitely the most fun to write!

**cybercat08**: Updates, I'm ashamed to admit, are sporadic. While I always hope the words will come fast and easy, it might well be that I won't update for another month. I'll work extra hard at it, though, I promise. And yes, it's going to be rather long.

**Kate**: Your impatience is flattering, lol. As to the quidditch matches, I probably won't do more than mention them. I've never been satisfied with any quidditch match I've attempted to write. To be quite honest, they get pretty repetitive rather quickly.

**Tom**: Yes, I know. And I promise I feel adequately sheepish about how sporadic my updates are. In the mean time, keep reading, please!

**GryffindorSeeker4**: Wish granted; here it is.

**DeathEater22**: Glad you like it; here's the next one.

Whew, that took a while. And now, read on.

* * *

"Albus, my young lad."

His lips twitching, Albus looked over the rims of his half-moon spectacles to see Nicholas Flamel's head in his fireplace. "Nicholas. How are you at this festive time of year?"

"Doing well, Albus, quite well. Well, except for a tiny argument with Perenelle, but I'm guessing she'll start talking to me again before the week is out. It's been a month already, after all, and even she has to let go of a grudge sometime, even if she _does_ intend to live forever. But how is everything with you? School still going well? The governors are still being meddlesome fools, I trust?"

"When they aren't being meddlesome, then I start worrying," Albus responded genially.

"And how's my Stone? Still safe?"

"Yes, I'm planning to move it to a new home before the New Year."

"That's good. Keep it moving around, and it'll keep whoever wants it on their toes."

"Precisely my plan. Though once moved, I think it will reside most comfortably in its new location for the rest of the year. My staff has extended an exemplary effort to provide additional protection for the Stone."

Nicholas beamed. "Excellent. Yes, quite excellent. I hear you've got some right clever teachers under you this year, so that's all to the good."

"Was that your only reason for calling, Nicholas?"

"Well, that and some extra time on my hands, what with Perenelle not speaking to me, and the extra floo powder was just sitting there, you know."

Albus smiled knowingly at him. "This argument is starting to get to you, isn't it?"

Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Well, no more than usual. It's dull having no one to talk to around the house. The house elves have all taken her side, and she's charmed the portraits not to speak to me either."

"Have you tried giving her flowers?"

Nicholas grimaced. "Twice. She says she's sick of perenelles, and it's a horrible pun, and that I ought to be clever enough to remember her favorite flower by now. I can't for the life of me think what it is, though."

"Lilies, I think," Albus provided.

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. "Lilies? _Lilies_? Why lilies? Don't they symbolize death? Popular at funerals, and all that? I'll never understand that woman, Albus."

"Just give her some pink ones, and tell her they were your idea."

Nicholas looked affronted. "Well, of course they were my idea! Lilies. I knew that."

Albus chuckled. "And when you get her chocolates, don't forget she's allergic to nuts."

"Right. And—er—thanks, Albus."

"Not at all, old friend. Good luck."

With a last grin, Nicholas's head disappeared from the fire.

Albus returned to his task, gift-wrapping a certain silvery cloak, and addressing it to one Harry Potter. He flicked his wand at the half-wrapped object, and the colorful paper straightened itself, folding neatly to cover the shiny material underneath. A second flick of his wand sent a red ribbon curling around the package, tying itself neatly in a decorative bow.

"I thought you said you didn't buy into favoritism, Dumbledore," came the voice of Phineas Nigellus from the wall.

"I don't," Albus said simply.

"And yet you've started giving Christmas presents to the students you like best?" Phineas asked skeptically.

"It's not exactly a Christmas present," Albus explained, conveying the package to the fireplace, where he flooed it down to the house elves to take care of. "That cloak was Harry's father's, and I'm simply passing it on."

"Tool for trouble-making, that's all it is to someone of his age," Phineas said grumpily. "No good will come of it, I promise you."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Albus said mildly. "There may come a time quite soon when it will be a very good thing for Harry to have."

"He's a first-year, Dumbledore. A child. What time could that be, except years from now?"

"Never underestimate children, Phineas. As a former headmaster of Hogwarts, you should know better."

The next day dawned bright, cold, and snowy; in short, everything a Christmas should be (at least in Albus's opinion). When he entered his office, Albus greeted the portraits with an exuberant "Merry Christmas" and was surprised to find Pyrites waiting for him in his customary position next to Phineas Nigellus.

"Good morning, Pyrites, and a merry Christmas to you. How is Harry this morning?"

"Quite excited. I gather he's received more presents than he's ever seen this morning," Pyrites said, a small smile gracing his lips.

Ah, thought Albus, the finicky man was getting to like looking after Harry. That in itself showed promise for Harry's character. "Well, that's good," he said aloud. "I gather he didn't receive many presents at the Dursleys', then. A shame, but it could not be helped."

"Among the presents was an invisibility cloak. No card, but a note with some very familiar handwriting." Pyrites paused for effect. "I've always said your writing was far too loopy, Dumbledore. It's easily recognized."

Albus sighed. "You see it as a sign of favoritism as well, do you?" he asked, resigned.

"Oh, no, Dumbledore. You stated in the note that the cloak was his father's. It is, by all rights, his, and was his before you gave it to him. I would have to be a bit of a Slytherin to complain that you were favoring a Gryffindor, now wouldn't I?"

Phineas made an impatient and offended noise at this, and promptly shoved Pyrites out of his frame.

"How rude," Pyrites commented as he reappeared in the painting next to Phineas's. The witch who occupied it moved over to make room for him, rolling her eyes.

"Is there a problem with giving the cloak to Harry, Pyrites?" Dumbledore asked to get the man's thoughts back on the subject.

"Well, it made that Weasley boy right jealous, but I expect he'll get over it."

"Anything else?"

"How _exactly_ do you expect me to _follow_ the boy if he's _invisible_?" Pyrites finally burst out, looking distinctly miffed.

"He's an eleven-year-old boy," Albus pointed out. "I expect he'll make some sort of sounds as he's moving that you'll be able to follow."

"You're forgetting the boy's upbringing, Dumbledore! He's been trained in that muggle home to be as quiet as a blasted mouse!" Pyrites countered, agitated enough that Albus knew this predicament had him very upset indeed—after all, in what other situation would Pyrites allow himself to use the word 'blasted' as an adjective?

"Network," Albus suggested. "Get the other portraits to tell you where he is once he becomes visible again."

"D'you know how long that would _take_? I'll never get to see anything that way! And a lot of good that will do _you_ if I don't!"

"Calm yourself, Pyrites. There's a charm I can perform for you that will allow you to see him, visible or invisible."

Pyrites looked quite excited at this prospect. "You mean I'll be able to see things that are invisible?" he pressed.

"No, just Harry," Albus clarified as he took out his wand. "It'll only take a second, and it won't hurt a bit. Hold still, now." With a complicated wave, a flash of light shot across the room, and Pyrites flinched slightly as it made contact. Albus lifted his wand, and fought hard not to smile as Pyrites examined himself carefully to be sure no physical damage had been done.

When he was done, Pyrites gave Albus a disgruntled look. "That _tingled_," he said as though deeply offended, and walked out of the picture he was occupying. "It better have worked," he added as he passed another portrait on his way out.

Albus chuckled softly to himself, causing a few of the portraits to look at him oddly. He sometimes wondered if Pyrites was trustworthy, or if he told Albus everything Harry was doing, the way he promised. Pyrites was known for hiding things, not for any particular reason, but for the satisfaction of knowing things that others didn't. On the other hand, he was finally taking to the task of looking after Harry with the optimism Albus had hoped for.

It was after the Christmas feast, when some of the students were having a snowball fight out on the front lawn, that Minerva came to Albus with some news. "Broderick Bode is here to see you," she announced after entering his office. "He's waiting in the Entrance Hall with a large package . . . Doesn't he work at the Department of Mysteries now?"

"Since last April," Albus affirmed. "He's here on business."

Minerva looked doubtful. "On Christmas day?" she asked doubtfully.

"It's not for the Ministry. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go meet him down in the Entrance Hall," Albus said, hoping to avoid having to tell Minerva exactly why Broderick was visiting. He'd told the other teachers that he intended to keep the last enchantment guarding the Stone a secret, even from them.

Broderick was standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, wringing his hands nervously. "Hullo, Albus."

"Happy Christmas, Broderick," Albus greeted cheerfully. "How are you?"

"Oh, fine, fine," Broderick said distractedly. "And yourself?"

"Excellent. There were no problems, I trust?"

Broderick cleared his throat. "Two more wizards have been sent to St. Mungo's. The reports say they've gone insane, looking into the mirror."

Albus felt a twinge of concern. "I hope the healers are predicting recovery."

Broderick shrugged. "That seems to vary from person to person. Some do, some don't. Now, I'm supposed to make sure that no one other than yourself is going to see this mirror while it's here. I have your word on that?"

"I will do everything in my power to prevent it," Albus assured him gravely. "If they do see it, it will be because they have trespassed in a forbidden area."

Broderick nodded, appearing satisfied. "Very good. Just sign this, then," he said, passing Albus a sheaf of parchments. "There at the bottom. It says you accept full responsibility for the mirror, and will take all necessary precautions."

"Of course," Albus said, and took the proffered quill to write his slanted, loopy signature.

Broderick seemed to sigh in relief when the parchment was handed back to him. "Right. Now, you said you might be able to give us a few clues as to what the mirror does? We've takent to calling it the Mirror of Erised, because of that inscription on the top," he said, and then gave Albus the full inscription written on a scrap of parchment.

Albus glanced at the scrawled writing: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_. "An apt name," he pronounced, "considering the mirror's function."

"Ah. And what function would that be, do you think?" Broderick asked excitedly, pulling a notebook and quill out of his robes.

"Why, it's written here," Albus said. "'_I show not your face, but your heart's desire_.' It's backwards, you see?"

Broderick stared at the parchment, awestruck. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed when he appeared able to speak again. "We never thought to try that! It sounded a bit like Gobbledegook, so we had all sorts of translators working on it, but they only came up with gibberish."

"Well, you'll get the mirror back for futher study by July. I trust by then you'll have found people to study it who aren't likely to go insane when they see their heart's desires."

"Of course, of course," Broderick gushed.

Albus smiled at his enthusiasm. "Right, well, let's get this into an empty classroom so the students won't see it, and then you can be on your way."

Albus intended to work the spell on the mirror that very night, he really did. He'd gotten elegant mirror uncovered, standing up amid the desks of the unused classroom. He was under a spell of invisibility as a precaution, and was about to start work on the mirror, when he heard a noise outside in the hallway. He opened the door slightly, but stood back to be able to hear.

Argus's voice floated towards him, clearly audible through the open door. "You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library—Restricted Section."

"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them," Severus replied, and Albus had to smile. Severus had been intent on putting up additional protections when he first started suspecting Quirenius of treachery, and it could only be to the good if he had Argus looking out for mischief as well. Then again, Argus was far more likely to find mischievous _students_ than anyone of real threat . . .

Albus felt a breath of air stir beside him, almost as though someone had walked past him. He listened more closely, and heard a deep breath that sounded like a sigh of relief. Albus needed only to see Pyrites looking dutifully out of a picture frame in the room to know who it was.

A few seconds later, Albus heard a gasp of surprise, and Harry became visible as his invisibility cloak slipped and fell to the floor, pooling around his feet. He was staring, pale and transfixed, at the Mirror of Erised.

Harry moved forward as though in a trance, until he was nearly nose-to-nose with the mirror. He stood staring at his reflection for several minutes, giving Albus plenty of time to wonder what it was he was seeing, before whispering, "Mum? Dad?"

A sad smile found its way onto Albus's face. What Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, wanted more than anything else in the world was what millions of children took for granted: his parents. Not fame, not riches, but a family.

They stood that way for a long time, Harry watching his reflection (and presumably his parents), and Albus watching Harry. Finally, Albus felt compelled to intervene. If he let the boy stand there any longer, Harry might well go insane. Just as he moved forward, however, Harry seemed to stir from his reverie and come back to the present.

"I'll come back," he whispered, and hurried from the room.

Albus sat and gazed at the mirror in thought for several minutes, though well enough away from it so as not to see his own reflection. This was an interesting predicament. On the one hand, Harry had been able to pull himself away from the mirror, so he didn't seem likely to go insane. However, if his intent to come back was anything to go by, he had definitely been deeply affected by it.

Albus wondered if he should move the mirror. The protective spells he intended to place on it would take a few days to complete. On the other hand, this was another test of character for Harry. He'd found out about Fluffy, and from what Pyrites said, he knew about the Philosopher's Stone being kept at Hogwarts. Would it be such a bad thing for him to know how the mirror worked as well? It wasn't as though Harry would try to go after the Stone himself, or anything.

As Harry didn't know how the mirror worked (yet), Albus doubted he would know any better than to come back to look at it again. Therefore, he could reasonably be expected to try to come back, most likely tomorrow night with the invisibility cloak, as he wouldn't want anyone to ask why he was sneaking around in classrooms over the holidays.

Albus decided to leave the mirror as it was for the night. He placed a locking charm on the door to the classroom, but he intended to arrive before Harry the next night anyway.

Harry brought Ron Weasley with him the next night when he hunted out the mirror. Albus almost wished that Hermione Granger were there with them. She was, by all accounts, more likely to understand the mirror when she saw it. It couldn't helped, however, and there were just the two boys. Ron looked around curiously, careful to be quiet lest he attract Filch or Mrs. Norris. Harry, however, proceeded straight towards the mirror.

"See?" he whispered.

Ron frowned at Harrry's reflection. "I can't see anything."

Harry couldn't understand this. "Look! Look at them all . . . there are loads of them!"

"I only see you."

Albus wondered how Harry would deal with this, but Harry dragged Ron to the spot he'd been standing in and told Ron to look from there. Ron, predictably, was awed by his reflection.

"I'm alone—but I'm different—I look older—and I'm head boy!"

"_What_?" said Harry, who had apparently thought that the mirror showed people's families.

"I am," Ron insisted. "I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to—and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup—I'm Quidditch captain, too! D'you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it?" Harry asked. "All my family are dead—let me have another look—"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time," Ron argued.

This was what Albus had been afraid of. Would they forget about everything but the mirror, or come to their senses, as Harry had appeared to last night?

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents," Harry said, and though Albus couldn't argue with him, he didn't like the way Harry pushed Ron very slightly backward.

"Don't push me!" Ron snapped, but they stopped when Albus used a spell to knock something over in the corridor.

That brought them to their senses, all right, a fact Albus was relieved to see.

"Quick!" It was Ron who grabbed the invisibility cloak and threw it over himself and Harry before Mrs. Norris rounded the corner, eyes glowing suspiciously.

Pyrites informed Albus the next evening that Harry would be visiting the mirror alone that night. Albus was therefore prepared when Harry walked into the classroom, not even noticing as he passed a quite visible Albus in his haste to get to the mirror. He sat down in front of the mirror, and showed no sign of noticing anything else at all, much to Albus's disappointment.

He cleared his throat. "So—back again, Harry?"

Harry whirled around to face him. "I—I didn't see you, sir," he said, abashed.

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," Albus commented lightly. Harry showed signs of getting up, but Albus motioned for him to stay seated and instead sat next to him on the floor. "So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir," Harry said hesitantly, and Albus could tell he was wondering whether or not he was in trouble.

"But I expect you realize by now what it does?" Albus asked, hoping for a brilliant answer.

"It—well—it shows me my family—"

The boy needed more practice at working these things out, then. "And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy," Albus reminded him. If he remembered that, then perhaps—

"How did you know—?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible. Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" Albus pressed.

Harry shook his head.

Another clue, then. "Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry was silent a moment. "It shows us what we want . . . whatever we want . . . "

Well, he was on the right track, at least. "Yes and no. It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you." Albus felt a slight pang of sadness at the thought of Lily and James staring out of the mirror at Harry. "Ron Weasley," he continued, "who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," Albus told him decisively, "and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared." He thought for a moment, wondering what else to say to the boy. He could hardly tell him what the mirror was being used for, no matter how inclined he was to do so. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that," he said finally. "Now why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood, but paused. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

Albus always found this particular question rather redundant. "Obviously, you've just done so. You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

Albus raised his eyebrows, surprised. Harry perhaps had a keener mind than he'd showed tonight; it just needed a bit of training. What _did_ Albus see when he looked in the mirror? Well, he'd never looked in it, and though he had several guesses as to what he would see if he did, he had no intention of looking, or of telling Harry his guesses.

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks," Albus finally said, thinking of the holes in the pair he was currently wearing. It must not have made much sense to Harry, who looked at him strangely. "One can never have enough socks," he explained. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

Albus smiled. He guessed that Harry had quite a lot to think about as he headed off to bed.


	6. The Trouble with Dragons

Apologies for the delay; writer's block tends to give very little notice, if any. Thanks to all those who reviewed. As a general note to that, I've decided to stop posting individual replies as part of the actual chapters (effective as of the next one),as it takes quite a bit ofspace and a lot of time. The exception would be if you have a particular question and your review isn't signed. Signed reviews will, henceforth, be answered as they come. In the mean time . . .

**melodicmoonstar89**: Thanks, that was definitely my goal for this fic. It's great to know someone thinks I've achieved it.

**shannayauburn**: Thanks, more is definitely on the way.

**Fable**: Thanks, I've always thought of Dumbledore as more of an eccentric yet wise old guy, and I, too, hate those fics where he's a manipulative git. I guess you could say this it my one-person protest against those sorts of stories.

**Arica, Princess of Rivendell**: Soon, unfortunately, is a relative term, but I'll try to do better.

**alix33**: The chapter title is spelled backwards, like the Mirror of Erised, so it's actually called Christmas, Invisibility, and Desire (though that last one canstay as Erised, too).

**Kate**: Thanks, and I'll try to make that "soon" a bit closer to "now" than I have previously.

**Elizabeth Theresa**: Thanks, I'm rather partial to that part of the book, too. It was my favorite bit of the first book.

**prince of almora**: Thanks. Please let me know if you do find something that deviates from the story line. About the sherbert-lemons: in the American version of the first book, it's lemon drops, whereas it's sherbert lemons in the British version. I started this fic before I knew that, and unfortunately I'm a bit too lazy to go back and fix it. So it's going to stay as lemon drops throughout the story; if you're more familiar with the British version, just insert the word sherbert-lemons each time you come upon lemon drops. Anyway, thanks for reviewing.

**cybercat08**: Yes, there will definitely be more chapters with Dumbledore talking to Harry. Thanks for reviewing.

**pleas loudly**: More is definitely coming. I'm planning to take this all the way through the end of book 6.

**VampireCat**: Thanks, more's on the way.

**DeathEater22**: I'm trying, hopefully the next chapter won't take as long. Thanks for reviewing.

Okay, so read on . . . But first note that my standard disclaimer applies to this chapter, as does my standard plea for reviews.

* * *

"How am I supposed to keep an eye on them when they visit Hagrid?" Pyrites demanded one afternoon several weeks after Christmas. "They go down to that hut at least once a week, and today they came back looking all secretive, like they'd been discussing something important! What if they're making progress on this whole Sherlock Holmes thing you've been encouraging, and I can't tell you about any of it because I can't hear them when they're at Hagrid's!"

Albus looked up. "Not even a proper greeting today? Dear, dear, Pyrites, what's happening to your manners?"

Pyrites looked distinctly put out. "Yes, yes, good evening and all that. Now what about listening when they visit Hagrid?"

Phineas Nigellus, who had forgotten after a few weeks the slur Pyrites had made on Slytherins, looked at the man standing next to his chair. "You're becoming quite the snoop, Pyrites. Who would have guessed you'd like tagging along after a couple of Gryffindors?"

Pyrites ignored him, intent on Albus's answer.

"I must say, I hadn't thought of that," Albus admitted. "There are generally so many places in this castle that contain portraits that I don't consider the places without."

"Send Hagrid a portrait!" Pyrites suggested at once. "Today, if possible."

"He does have that photograph of himself and his father—would it work with a photograph?" he asked, frowning slightly as he looked up at Pyrites. "Anything else and Hagrid will wonder what it's for, and you know he's never taken kindly to your comments on Gryffindor."

Pyrites scowled, then mastered himself, and for the first time this visit, his careful manner of speech reappeared. "Well, I suppose it might work. I can't appear in photographs, but I could perhaps listen just beyond the frame . . . yes."

"Good. Now then—did anything unusual happen within your hearing today?"

Several weeks went by without great event. Albus kept an eye on things as usual, with Pyrites's daily reports on Harry and Severus's suspicions on Quirenius. So long as nothing progressed any further, life went on as usual at Hogwarts. That was, until one day, when Pyrites changed everything with just four words:

"Hagrid has a dragon!"

Mass chaos broke out among the other portraits.

"How could he have gotten his hands on a dragon?"

"The Ministry will have his head if they find out!"

"I always said he'd come to no good!"

"He's bound for Azkaban now. Six months, at least."

"How irresponsible!"

"_Quiet_," Albus said loudly. "Pyrites, are you sure? You're _quite_ sure?"

"It hatched during break this morning," Pyrites answered, and he seemed annoyed at Albus for doubting his word. "As far as I can tell, Hagrid sent Harry a note that it was hatching during breakfast, and Hermione insisted they went to Herbology, so they ran down during break."

"A dragon. Hagrid's always wanted one . . . " Alarm bells went of in Albus' brain. "Did he say where he got the egg?"

Pyrites rolled his eyes. "Dumbledore, I'm not dense. I _do_ know what you hired me for, and the agreement was information you'd find useful. No, they didn't mention it. My guess would be that it was mentioned before I figured out how to listen in while they were at Hagrid's."

Albus sat back in his chair, and stroked a crooning Fawkes. To buy time before making a decision, he asked, "What does Harry think of all this?"

Pyrites raised an eyebrow, and inspected his spotless gloves. "Don't you think this amounts to a bit of an obsession, Dumbledore? Harry this, Harry that . . . What do you care, anyway? He's just a scrawny first year who had talented parents."

"Pyrites . . . "

"Oh, all right. There was that tiny matter with the prophecy, but still—"

"Pyrites, the agreement was that you would assume I had my reasons and leave it at that," Albus reminded the portrait.

The stuffy portrait sighed, and removed the top hat he always wore to polish it with his sleeve. "All right, all right. What Harry thinks. He's worried. I'm reasonably sure he knows the whole affair is illegal. The Weasley boy must have known, and probably filled him in."

"And yet they're not willing to tell any of the teachers about it," Albus mused. "Another show of loyalty to his friends. That's all to the good. Yes, quite good."

Pyrites snorted delicately. "Yes, that's if the Ministry doesn't catch him. Just failing to inform someone marks him as a bit of accomplice, doesn't it?"

Albus waved that remark aside. "You're thinking of the laws as they apply to adults, Pyrites. The Ministry has very little jurisdiction at Hogwarts. Rules tend to be enough for students." He frowned, and glanced out the window at the grounds. He could just see the gamekeeper's hut, and a tendril of smoke rose from the chimney against the sunset. He came to a decision. "Hagrid is a very able gamekeeper, and I'd be hesitant to lose him. I'm going to leave the situation be for a few days. Let me know if Harry or his friends try to persuade Hagrid to get rid of the dragon."

"You think they will?" Pyrites asked skeptically.

"Only if they continue in the same vein of character they've already showed," Albus said mildly. "Now, I believe you'd better get back to watching Harry. Thank you for the information."

It was nearly a week later that Pyrites reported to Albus that there was a definite plan to get rid of the troublesome dragon. Albus hadn't been expecting it; after a few days, he was a little pessimistic that Harry would come up with any sort of solution.

"Any news?" he asked Pyrites as the top hat was seen bobbing around the other portraits that evening.

"Good evening, Dumbledore," came the smug answer.

This was all it took for Albus to focus his entire attention on the clever little man next to Phineas Nigellus. "Good evening," he replied gravely.

"Harry's doing well in classes."

"Ah. And quidditch?"

"From the talk the other portraits hear in the halls, the boy's a natural."

"And Ron and Hermione?" Albus asked, knowing quite well the order of Pyrites' systematic reports.

"Still friends with Harry, and oddly enough with each other."

"Anything unusual lately?"

"Well . . . " When the infuriating portrait could draw out the silence no further, he smiled. "They seem to have procured a way to get rid of little scaly Norbert. Probably a good thing, too, because from the sound of it, the cabin nearly caught fire on Tuesday."

The other portraits were listening intently as well. "Want me to hurry his report along, Dumbledore?" One of them asked, drawing a wand.

Albus waved aside the proffered assistance as Pyrites looked, scandalized, at the brandished wand.

"All right, I'm hurrying! They're writing to Weasley's brother in Romania who works with a dragon colony, and they're sending the little monster to him," he said in one breath.

"Ah, good," Albus said, leaning back in his chair again.

"Yes," the portrait answered, looking askance at the wizard who'd drawn the wand on him. "It's about time, really. Apparently Harry's Slytherin nemesis is aware of the dragon as well."

Albus nearly smiled. Pyrites never referred to young Draco Malfoy by name if he could help it, finding the boy unspeakably rude and presumptuous. Of course, this was merely a front for how attached to Harry Pyrites had gotten over the past few months.

"Well, keep me informed," Albus said pleasantly as Pyrites gradually couldn't help from showing how impatient he was to get back to Gryffindor Tower. "Until tomorrow night."

As it turned out, the night worked out for the departure of Hagrid's scaly charge fell to a week from Saturday at midnight. Albus made a note on his desk calendar to look after things personally that night. By the time the night came, however, things had become complicated enough that Albus imagined Harry must be getting very nervous about the venture. Ron had been bitten by the dragonet while attempting to feed it. Draco apparently found out exactly when it was supposed to leave, and told Severus, who in turn informed Argus. It seemed that more Hogwarts staff than Albus himself would be out and about that night.

"You really ought to just summon them all to your office and give them detention for a month," Phineas said disapprovingly as Albus prepared to leave.

"I'll take care of it, thank you, Phineas," Albus informed him as he cast the invisiblility charm on himself, and left.

He caught up with Harry and Hermione as they were entering the castle, a heavy crate containing the dragon between them. It was all very cumbersome beneath Harry's invisibility cloak, and their feet were visible several times as the cloak shifted.

It was as they reached the base of the Astronomy Tower that Malfoy made his appearance for the night, along with a rather irate Professor McGonagall. Albus stifled a laugh wondering what his Transfiguration professor had been doing up at midnight. He didn't think she'd caught rumor of the situation; the infamous professional rivalry between herself and Severus would have ensured that.

"Detention! And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you!" she barked.

Draco struggled in her grasp. "You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming—he's got a dragon!"

Albus raised his eyebrows at the scene thoughtfully. Draco was telling the truth, of course, but Albus doubted Minerva would realize this. He made a mental note to ensure that some sort of justice was carried out to this effect. He glanced at the place where Harry and Hermione had shrunk into the shadows with the dragon's crate. They looked wary, but surprised and slightly smug.

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies? Come on—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!" Minerva and Malfoy disappeared around the corner, which left Albus free to follow Harry and Hermione up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

When they were finally up the stairs, the two students set the crate down with an almighty sigh and threw off the cloak. Instead of appearing tired, however, Hermione did a funny sort of jig.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," advised Harry, who seemed to be slightly more winded than Hermione.

It was a short wait until Charlie Weasley's friends appeared. After that, things were simple. They harnessed Norbert's crate to the brooms, and their problem literally flew out the window with Charlie's friends.

Harry and Hermione seemed so happy that their troubles were gone that they went skipping down the stairs—almost literally. Albus shook his head ruefully behind them. He was quite sure that the absense of the invisibility cloak would be noticed eventually. And—

"Well, well, well. We _are _in trouble," came the voice of Filch, echoing up the tower.

Albus picked up the fluid material of the cloak and tucked it into his voluminous pocket. He reached the bottom of the stairs in time to see Filch leading the two first-years away to Professor McGonagall's office. Shaking his head, he reminded himself that they deserved the punishment if they were careless enough to leave the invisibility cloak behind. He could, after all, only interfere so much.

Minerva strode briskly into his office the next morning as he was feeding Fawkes.

"Professor Dumbledore," she began.

Albus, knowing very well what she'd come about, looked up from giving Fawkes a lemon drop. "Pleasant morning, Minerva. Sleep well?"

"No, come to think of it, I did not," she answered sharply. "I thought you should know that I found Miss Granger and Misters Potter, Longbottom, and Malfoy out of bed and wandering the halls last night."

Albus turned around, trying to look surprised. "Ah. And—what sort of punishments did you give them?"

She looked down her sharp nose at him with furious disapproval. "You knew about this, didn't you, Albus?"

He blinked. "Knew about this? Well, I—can't say I . . . " He trailed off as she continued to glare at him, nostrils flaring. "I might have been following them."

She raised an eyebrow. "I knew it as soon as I detected that disillusionment charm. I only gave them one detention apiece because I thought you might want some input on the matter."

"That's all? I could have sworn I saw some difference in the House points when I passed the hourglasses later." Albus turned back to feeding Fawkes as the phoenix nipped at his hand. "I think one detention should do it. They didn't have any mischief in mind. Well,Mr. Malfoy might have, but I think one detention will suffice to discourage all of them from trying it again."

"What were they doing? They didn't have an answer when I asked them."

"They got rid of a troublesome dragon for me."

"A dragon!"

"Hagrid recently acquired it, and Harry and Hermione made plans with Ron to send it off to Charlie Weasley in Romania." Albus returned Minerva's stern look with a cheery smile.

She sighed. "I suppose I'll have them do lines for me, then."

"Oh, no," Albus answered, finally having finished feeding Fawkes. "I intend to have them help Hagrid with a small task in the forest for me."

Minerva looked even more worried at this. "Dumbledore, they're only first years! Such a thing would be most irregular even as punishment for an older student. Shouldn't I just assign them to help Argus with some cleaning?"

Albus shook his head. "Hagrid will be there to protect them. And I do think that if Harry is anything like his father, he needs more of a shock than lines to make him think he did wrong, or he'll start thinking that there's nothing wrong with breaking the rules."

Minerva sighed again, and shook her head before leaving. "Have it your way, then, Albus."

Through the eyes of Pyrites, Albus watched Harry closely through the next week. The portrait reported that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were being shunned by the other Gryffindors, and even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, for all the points they'd lost. Harry was bearing the brunt of it all, and had sworn to stop meddling in things because of it.

"The boy even offered to resign from quidditch," Pyrites grumbled. "And it's not fair, because he was trying to do the right thing."

"Life is never fair, Pyrites," Albus answered, to which Pyrites huffed,put his emaculate white gloves back on and left without a proper goodbye.

The infamous detention landed on Tuesday evening. Albus took the opportunity to fold up Harry's invisibility cloak and return it to him, hiding it under the covers at the foot of his bed, along with a note that read _Just in case_.

He'd made the decision to stop Quirenius himself, as close to the end of term as possible for the sake of the students. But he had a nagging suspicion that things wouldn't go as planned.


	7. The End of the Year

Hello again. Please note, as always, that what you recognize is not mine. Also as always, I would really love to hear what you think of the chapter. Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. If I didn't reply, you have my express permission to flame this chapter.

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The next morning, Pyrites was waiting for Albus, pacing agitatedly in front of Phineas Nigellus' chair. "What took you so long?" he demanded when Albus entered and greeted Fawkes.

Albus looked up in surprise. "Pyrites, what are you doing here at this time of day? You should be following Harry."

"Never mind that now, there's an emergency!" Pyrites exclaimed. "Last night, in the forest on that ridiculous detention! Harry says he saw You-Know-Who!"

Albus blinked. That wasn't supposed to have happened. Harry was just supposed to have learned about the dark uses unicorn blood could have, and what an evil thing it was to kill one. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be, given that I wasn't there," he answered with a pointed look. "It's lucky that Weasley boy wasn't with them, or they'd have discussed the whole thing before they got back indoors."

"What exactly did he see?"

"A cloaked figure drinking the blood of the unicorn. And he said his scar hurt."

"His scar hurt?"

"That's what I said, isn't it? He's clever, he's already figured out that it's because it was You-Know-Who." Pyrites fussed worriedly with his gloves. "I can't believe how much danger you've put him in, Dumbledore. Really, he's hardly more than a child."

Albus nodded, feeling rather worried himself. "Watch him closely this next week, Pyrites. I'm going to end this as soon as exams are over, but if he's in any danger, I want you to come and get me immediately. If Voldemort gets the Stone, the first person he's going to go after is Harry, so be on guard."

Pyrites nodded. "You're lucky I don't need sleep very often, Dumbledore. I've never seen such a one for wandering around after hours."

Albus allowed himself a small smile. "That's because you've never followed a student before, Pyrites."

A week later, an owl tapped on his office window just as he was finishing a conversation with Minerva about the possiblity that the Weasley twins had cheated on their examinations. Minerva let the bird in, and had no sooner retrieved the letter than it took off again.

"For you, Albus," she said as she handed the letter to him. "Another note from Fudge, by the look of it."

Albus sighed and opened the letter. It was indeed from Cornelius, requesting his presence urgently. "It's for a meeting, and he says it's urgent," he told Professor McGonagall. "I suppose I'd better go, but I'm not going to floo or apparate if he insists on calling me for every little thing. If you could tell Hagrid to call a thestral—"

"What about the Weasleys' exams?" she demanded. "The answers are worded exactly the same, for heaven's sake!"

"You issued them with the standard anti-cheating quills?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then I do think it's just a coincidence, Minerva. I don't think the two of them have spent more than a detention's length of time apart from each other since they were born. They're bound to think alike and word things similarly."

She looked down at the papers she held in one hand again. "I suppose it would explain their annoying tendency to finish each other's sentences. I'll have Hagrid call that thestral for you, headmaster."

He nodded his thanks. "I'll probably be back late tonight. I'll be getting there relatively late by Fudge's standards, but he'll still probably want to go over whatever problem he's been having several times over."

Albus arrived at the Ministry of Magic in the late afternoon, ensuring that Cornelius would have only an hour or so in which to consult with him before the normal work-day ended. He left the thestral (he was pretty sure Hagrid had called the creature Snuffy, but he might have been mistaken) in the alley where the visitor's entrance was located. Then he descended to the atrium, greeted the security wizard, and proceeded up to the first level, where Fudge's office was.

"Albus," Cornelius greeted when his secretary admitted the headmaster. "Great to see you! I was just thinking of owling you. There's this pesky problem in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that I really—"

Albus frowned, then interrupted this speech as politely as possible. "I'm sorry, Cornelius, but I thought you _did_ owl me." He dug in one of his pockets and came up with the letter, holding it out for the Minister to inspect. "It came this afternoon."

Cornelius Fudge stared at the parchment in Albus' hand. "Albus—I'm not sure who sent that, but it wasn't me. That's not my signature, though it's not terribly far off. I could ask my secretary, if you—"

This news reached Albus' ears with all the signs of a harbinger of trouble. "That won't be necessary," he said quickly. "I think I'd best be getting back to the school."

The Minister looked a bit concerned at this. "All right, then. If you could come back some other time to discuss that—"

But Albus was already out the door and down the hall, heading swiftly back to the visitor's entrance to the Ministry. His mind was going at twice the speed he himself was.

It was Quirrell, it had to be. Quirrell needed him out of the way, and would have had no trouble impersonating one of Fudge's letters. Albus had certainly left enough of them laying around . . . But one thing was absolutely certain, and that was that Quirrell would be going after the Philosopher's Stone that very night.

Of course, he couldn't just leave the thestral to wreak havoc all over London. Albus glanced at his watch. If he hurried the thestral along a bit, he could be back just a little after the Hogwarts curfew. Surely Quirrell wouldn't dare do anything before then . . .

One thing was decided, though, he thought as the thestral took off. He'd given Quirrell enough time to come around of his own accord. And he knew, too, that Severus had been trying to find out what the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had been up to, trying to make sure he wasn't under the Imperius Curse. All evidence pointed to the fact that Quirrell, while acting under Voldemort's orders, certainly knew what he was doing, and was not under the influence of any spells. That meant that, while Albus hoped he wouldn't have to kill his wayward teacher, he would certainly have to make sure he was temporarily incapacitated during what was sure to be a confrontation.

The thestral landed in front of the front doors to the castle perhaps an hour later that Albus had thought they'd arrive. Hurriedly, he jumped off the creature's back, thanked it, and rushed into the entrance hall.

He met Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger there, much to his surprise.

They were both panting, and hurrying off in the direction of the owlry, but stopped dead when they saw him.

Albus needed only to look at their flushed, sweaty faces to know what was going on. And suddenly, the situation was a lot more dangerous than a mere confrontation between a headmaster and wayward Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?"

The next instant, he was pushing open the doors to the third-floor corridor, making Fluffy quiet with a single stern word. The trapdoor opened as soon as he flicked his wand at it, and he made his way through all the challenges and tests set up to guard the Philosopher's Stone, overriding the majority of the obstacles with a simple, powerful wave of his wand.

When he reached the room that held the Mirror of Erised, his heart nearly stopped.

Quirrell's turban was gone, and Voldemort's face was revealed on the back of his head. The professor was pinning Harry to the ground, one hand around the boy's neck and his wand at the ready, some deadly curse clearly on the tip of his tongue—but before Albus could do anything—

"Master, I cannot hold him—my hands—my hands!"

Then, Harry, clearly acting on intuition alone, touched Quirrell's face—

A terrible scream—

Harry's eyes closed in pain—

Voldemort, screaming at Quirrell to kill him—

Albus finally reached them, just as Voldemort's spirit lost its hold on Quirrell entirely, the face disappearing. He wrenched Harry and the professor apart, and both collapsed.

After ensuring that Quirrell wouldn't be able to go anywhere, Albus knelt down over Harry, calling his name. The boy moaned, but otherwise didn't respond. He appeared to have lost consciousness. A blood-red stone rolled from his grasp.

He levitated both Harry and Quirrell, and took them to the hospital wing. Poppy took one glance at the professor and informed Albus that nothing could be done for him, then rushed around getting healing potions for Harry. After a tense hour in which Albus helped the mediwitch in any way he could, she informed him the boy would be all right, and shooed him out to get some sleep.

Albus, of course, did not sleep. He flooed directly over to Nicholas Flamel's manor house.

He was greeted by a tired house elf, who rushed off to fetch her master and mistress at Albus' appearance.

"Albus! What the blazes d'you mean by dropping by at two o'clock in the morning!" Nicholas asked through a yawn when he finally appeared in a dressing gown.

"Good morning, Nicholas," Albus greeted him gravely. "If Perenelle is here, the three of us need to talk." He took out the Stone. "About this."

"What about it?" Perenelle asked serenely, waltzing into the room at that moment.

"An innocent boy nearly died tonight because of your Stone. A not-so-innocent teacher at Hogwarts actually did." He paused for their exclamations of worry and disbelief, then continued. "I've found the person who was after it, Nicholas. It was Lord Voldemort himself." He looked very seriously at both of them. "Consider, Nicholas, Perenelle, how many times this sort of thing has happened over both of your lifetimes. There have always been conflicts over this Stone. You cannot pretend there haven't been. I am not going to keep it safe for you any longer. You can take it back, with the warning that I very nearly was not able to protect it, even at Hogwarts."

Nicholas took the Stone in silence, and looked at Perenelle. She seemed in shock.

"I think," Albus said quietly, "that it is high time for you to consider your reasons for keeping the Stone, and if they are worth the consequences." He stood, and left without another word, knowing full well that Nicholas would be more up to discussing the subject in more detail at a more reasonable hour.

Albus was there when Harry woke up for the first time. He'd requested Poppy keep him informed, and arrived just in time to see the boy opening his eyes on the afternoon she'd predicted he would wake.

"Good afternoon, Harry," he greeted pleasantly.

Harry looked confused for a moment. Then his eyes filled with panic. "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick—"

Albus nearly smiled. "Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times. Quirrell does not have the Stone."

The green eyes were full of confusion once more at this. "Then who does? Sir, I—"

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

The boy looked around him for the first time, and Albus stifled a laugh at the thought that he hadn't even looked to see where he was before launching into his questions about the Stone. He seemed especially confused about the sweets and cards piled on the bedside table, and Albus felt obliged to explain.

"How long have I been in here?" was Harry's next question.

Albus was pleased to note that, while Harry certainly seemed happy that the whole school no longer seemed to hate him, he stayed more concerned with the events he'd missed. "Three days," he answered. "Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

But even this would not deterr him. "But sir, the Stone—"

"I see you are not to be distracted," Albus observed wryly. "Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?" he asked anxiously.

Albus shook his head. "We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you—"

"It was _you_," Harry said in realization.

So the boy had been just a little aware of things before he passed out completely. "I feared I might be too late," Albus admitted, hoping to impress on Harry just how serious the situation had been.

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer—"

"Not the Stone, boy," Albus said, feeling slightly exasperated that Harry seemed to have inherited his father's way of never realizing when he himself was in trouble, "you—the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed." Albus said this with a sense of relief, recalling the conversation he and Nicholas had had in his office just the previous morning.

"Destroyed? But your friend—Nicholas Flamel—"

"Oh, you know about Nicholas?" Albus asked in surprise. He'd have to reprimand Pyrites later for not informing him of Harry's discovery. Still, he was very pleased. "You _did_ do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicholas and I have had a little chat"—actually, more than _one_ little chat, Albus thought ruefully—"and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?" Harry asked hesitantly, looking at him out of those wide, relatively innocent green eyes.

Albus gave him a small smile. "They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die. To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicholas and Perenelle, it reeally is like going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." He paused, thinking of all the trouble that had come of the Stone. "You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all—the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

There was a short silence in which Harry seemed to think very hard about this. Then, inevitably, he came up with another question.

"Sir? I've been thinking . . . Sir—even if the Stone's gone, Vol—I mean, You-Know-Who—"

Albus shook his head. The boy had clearly been informed of the pointless taboo against saying Voldemort's name. "Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use thee proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir," he said, almost without thinking, and Albus hoped the message had gotten through. "Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

Albus sighed. Time to be honest with the boy. "No, Harry, he has not. He is still out theree somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share . . . not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to pwer, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time—and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

"Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me . . . things I want to know the truth about. . . ."

"The truth," Albus repeated warily, and a little sadly. He thought he knew what was coming. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should thereefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well . . . Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

_For neither can live while the other survives_, said a misty voice in Albus' memory. It was clear now that the Prophecy had not been fulfilled. That scar was the mark that was spoken of, and since Voldemort still survived, the story was not yet at an end. He looked very closely at Harry, at this eleven-year-old boy with confused, innocent eyes.

No. Everyone deserved to hang on to that innocence as long as possible. Voldemort was gone for now, and there was no pressing urge for him to know. He would know soon enough.

"Alas," he said with a sigh, "the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day . . . put it from your mind for now, Harry." _Put it from your mind and be happy_, he added silently. "When you are older . . . I know you hate to hear this . . . when you are ready, you will know." _And may you never have to be ready for such a terrible truth_.

Harry seemed to accept this with difficulty, and moved on. "But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you," Albus said quietly. "If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. he didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign . . . to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in yuour very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Tears pushed up into those startlingly green eyes, and Albus politely looked away so that Harry could compose himself again.

"And the invisibility cloak?" Harry asked. Did the boy never run out of questions, Albus wondered tolerantly. "Do you know who sent it to me?"

Albus smiled, knowing Harry was going to like this particular truth. "Ah—your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it. Useful things . . . your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else . . . "

"Fire away," Albus said with another smile. He was getting to like Harry's curious personality.

"Quirrell said Snape—"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," Albus emphasized. He could quite overlook the omission of the title for Quirrell.

"Yes, him—Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other," Albus admitted. "Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"_What_?"

"Yes," Albus affirmed, and smiled. He looked so much like a younger version of James that it was almost as if he were telling a first-year James that he would save Severus Snape's life in the future. The reaction was about the same, anyway. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt. . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace. . . . "

"And sir, there's one more thing . . . " Harry said.

"Just the one?" Rather surprising, that.

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

Albus beamed at him. He really wanted to know the whole of the story, didn't he? And as he explained it to Harry, Albus couldn't help but feel proud that the boy had been able to get past the trick, to want to find the Stone but be selfless enough not to have any desire to use it.

As he expected, Minerva had a well-thought-out lecture waiting for him on the last day of school, just after all the students had departed for the Hogsmeade station, all about the risks and the way first-years should not come up against so much danger, and how, after all, the wizarding world would never have forgiven him if he'd gotten the Boy Who Lived killed.

Albus smiled, listened politely, and offered her a lemon drop when she was finished.

"But you see, Minerva," he said, watching through his office window as the Hogwarts Express departed the station in the village beyond, "it was never an unexpected trial, for him. The events of the year all led up to it."

"But _why_, Albus?" Minerva demanded, exasperated.

"He's going to need a lot of strength to fulfill that prophecy," Albus answered quietly, with that sense of foreboding he always got when he thought of that particular memory. "He has the character for it, and he's proven that. But he still lacks the knowledge or first-hand experience. And there's no time like the present to prepare him." He glanced at her, and his eyes twinkled. "I do hope, however, that he will need to be watched much less closely next year."

* * *

So, that's it for the Philosopher's Stone. Next chapter starts the Chamber of Secrets. Please review!


	8. A New Year

I know. It's been a criminally long time. My excuses are limited to a full-time job over the summer and another project that took up my remaining time and attention. I am determined to finish this story, however, so here I am again. Also, I regret to announce that I will be unable to reply to reviews from the previous chapter, as my notes are a mess and quite outdated at this point. Thanks to all those of you who did take the time to review, however. I appreciate it more than I can say, and I promise that I will be responding to reviews for this chapter.

Please note that my standard disclaimer and plea for reviews apply to this chapter.

On with the story (now in year two).

* * *

As he sat in the corner of the Three Broomsticks listening to the applicant talk, Albus once again wished he could have more than a handful of people that wanted the job. Even, say, _four_ to choose from would be nice. But as usual, this year it had come down to Severus and one other person.

The person in question sat there across the table from him, smiling a very—_bright_—smile, and talking nonstop. Although, talking was the most generous word that came to Albus' mind. He rather thought that babbling or prattling would be more accurate. It was amazing, really, that the man could keep going for—Albus glanced at his watch—half an hour, almost without pausing for breath, and certainly without pausing to hear anything Albus had to say.

Finally, he cleared his throat to signal that he was ready to contribute to this rather one-sided conversation.

The man didn't notice, but kept speaking. He seemed to be recounting a story that involved a biting teacup, a hag, and his own left shoe.

Albus tried again. "Gilderoy—"

"—And then I swung from the chandelier to avoid the werewolf's teeth, and the hag was waving my shoe at me when the teacup leapt from the table and—"

Albus blinked. When had the werewolf entered the story? "Gilderoy—"

"Just barely missed my nose, thank Merlin, but—"

"_Gilderoy_!"

The man seemed to come to himself at last, and flashed another grin. "Yes, Albus old boy? You were trying to say something? You really should have waited till I was done, you know."

Albus managed a rueful smile. "I do apologize, Gilderoy, but I do have an urgent appointment at the castle in a few minutes, and I must be on my way. I think I have enough information for now. I'll send you an owl when I make the decision." He stood and held out his hand. "Thank you for your application."

Gilderoy Lockhart shook the proffered hand with a great deal of enthusiasm. "Oh, it's no trouble at all, Dumbledore. Just let me know when I can officially announce the position. All my fans will be on edge, you know. And remind me to tell you the story of when I tackled that yeti, it really is worth hearing—"

Albus contented himself with a brisk nod as he left the cost of the drinks on the table, with a generous tip for Madam Rosmerta. Then he turned and left.

Minerva was waiting for him when he reached his office, and gave him a surprised look. "You're on time. In fact, if I didn't know better, I would say you were early."

Albus glanced at his watch. "By two minutes. A new record, I think."

"You realize, of course, that if you intend to make this a new habit, it will throw all the rest of us off. Filius in particular."

"I don't intend to change my habits, Minerva, I just didn't think I could handle one more story about Gilderoy finding the cure for lycanthropy."

She snorted. "I still can't believe people actually listen to what that complete oaf says. He was a pathological liar in school, and I say he still is, no matter what his publishers think."

"Indeed," Albus said as he crossed the room to retrieve his pensieve and add the memory of Lockhart's interview to the thoughts currently stored in it. "I'm inclined to think there was very little difference in Gilderoy's behavior that time James Potter slipped a Babbling Beverage in his morning pumpkin juice."

Minerva's eyebrows raised slightly. "I don't think I heard about that one."

"Very few people noticed, as you might imagine. I think James was going for Matthew Smith, who was seated next to Gilderoy. With Matthew, of course, the symptoms would have landed him in the hospital wing. That boy was always rather quiet."

"I thought Potter and Smith got along rather well," Minerva said with a frown.

Albus finished adding the memory to the pensieve and turned to explain. "That was James' fifth year, just before the very first quidditch game, and when he's just been made Gryffindor's captain. Matthew, of course, was captain of the Hufflepuff team."

The Transfiguration professor sighed and shook her head. "I do hope Hogwarts' current Potter doesn't prove to be quite that competitive."

Albus smiled. "Still, you wouldn't mind having that Quidditch Cup in your office again, now would you?"

Minerva flushed slightly, then changed the subject. "I have the list of new students for the year, Albus," she said, holding up the roll of parchment.

"In a minute, Minerva, I want you and all the portraits to see this interview. Then I want to hear your thoughts." He jabbed the swirling thoughts in the pensieve with his wand, and an image of a beaming and winking Gilderoy Lockhart rose out of the basin, revolving slowly on the spot. The portraits on the walls came out of their pretended sleep as the silvery Lockhart began speaking in an echoing voice.

When the interview had repeated itself, the portraits voiced their conflicting opinions. Albus took a vote, and found them equally split on whether Lockhart should be hired. He looked at Minerva. "What do you think?"

She looked almost scandalized. "He's the _only_ applicant?"

"The only other was Severus."

Minerva closed her eyes and breathed slowly. "This is going to be a difficult year."

"Which would you choose?"

"You're asking my advice on your Defense professor? You didn't last year."

"Last year was far more clear-cut than this one. Quirrell was more qualified to teach the subject, despite the fact that he gave in to Voldemort halfway through the year. Looking back, I would of course have hired Severus over him, but what's done is done. This year, we have the choice of hiring Severus or letting in a teacher who will teach absolutely nothing. Given the present choice, I'd hire neither of them. However, Defense Against the Dark Arts is not a discipline we can just do away with. It's a difficult decision and I'd like someone else's opinion," Albus said calmly.

Minerva sighed again. "I've always agreed with you on the fact that Severus should not be allowed to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. It would be far too easy for him to fall back into his old ways, all in the name of teaching. But the students would at least learn more with him than they would with Lockhart." She looked rather put out. "Hire Severus. He's going to be unbearable, but you can't neglect the students' education, and he would do the better job."

"There is one other thing to consider." Albus took a deep breath. "Last year, I hired someone I knew had studied the Dark Arts. I knew Quirrell could be valuable to Voldemort, but I hired him anyway so that Severus wouldn't have to take the job.

"We both know very well that Gilderoy would be completely useless to Voldemort. He is not very talented, and his knowledge on the Dark Arts is incomplete and borrowed. Even so, he _is_, strangely enough, able to resist the Imperius curse. If he were in the way, Voldemort would simply kill him. But wherever he is, Voldemort does not currently have the power to kill anyone, not without followers.

"Severus, on the other hand, has been used by him before. Despite the fact that he can resist Legilimency and the Imperius curse, Severus is in greater danger of being used by Voldemort if there is any contact between them.

"So the question is, would it be better for the students to learn something, and risk a situation like the one last year, should Voldemort turn up again, or would it be better to give the students a completely useless teacher for a year, and hope for someone better next time?"

Minerva frowned, and remained silent for several minutes as she thought about this. The portraits, too, looked oddly thoughtful; after a moment began playing eye-ball tag, all trying to say something without words and get someone else to say what they were all thinking.

Finally, Minerva sighed. "Hire the pompous liar." The portraits murmured their reluctant agreement, and she shook her head. "I can't wait until the curse gets him."

Albus gave her a shocked look, and chuckled. "Really, Minerva, I don't think I've ever heard so impolite a comment from you. Now, have a lemon drop, and tell me about this year's new students."

Minerva conjured a chair in front of his desk as he took a seat behind it. "There's a problem with things this year, actually."

"With the new students?" Albus asked, looking down the list. "It looks like we're getting the last Weasley, and the first Weasley girl in, what over a century?"

"That's not the problem, Albus. The problem is that it's Severus's year to explain things to the muggleborns. And not only do I personally feel that he is unqualified, but he refused point-blank to do it."

"That is a problem," Albus mused. "Is there anyone else who can do it?"

"That's the other part of the problem. Filius said he wouldn't be reachable until just before the start of term, Pomona and Rolanda are out of the country, and Auriga Sinistra owled just this morning to say she's having a family emergency and might not make it to the school for the welcome feast."

"What about Professor Vector? Or Professor Marks?"

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "You said yourself you weren't going to disturb Deirdre from her much-needed vacation this summer unless someone blew up the castle. Ptolemy is at an Ancient Runes convention in Egypt, which ends two days before term starts. And before you ask, I'm not sending Kettleburn or Trelawney. Kettleburn would scare the children, and Sibyll has no idea how to get around in the muggle world." She sighed. "And our dear Muggle Studies professor is missing in action, as always, so I'll be doing the job myself."

Albus chuckled at the thought of Marcus Thisby, the Muggle Studies professor he'd hired some thirty years ago. Marcus, as a pure-blooded wizard, was completely fascinated with muggles, and strangely enough knew everything about them, but he had a terrible, recurring fear of them. The last time they'd sent Marcus to explain things to the new muggleborns, he'd been found standing stock-still in a grocery store, wimpering slightly with his eyes tightly closed.

"If you need me to, I can take a turn," Albus offered.

"And were you planning on wearing that purple velvet suit of yours for the occasion?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Then no, thank you, Albus. I can do it just as easily myself."

He inclined his head respectfully. "As you wish, Minerva."

She huffed at him before leaving.

Albus spent the rest of the afternoon on correspondence; with difficulty, he wrote the letter to Gilderoy Lockhart hiring him as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He also wrote a note to Cornelius Fudge's secretary as a way of informing the Ministry of the choice, and one letter to each of the school governors as well.

He was just about to leave for the owlery when he heard a throat clearing behind him.

"Good afternoon, Dumbledore."

Albus smiled. "Pyrites. Anything on your mind?"

The man in Phineas Nigellus's portrait took off his top hat. "I just came to check on how everything was going," he said mildly.

Albus chuckled. "Term starts in another three weeks, Pyrites. Harry will be back then. Do be patient."

He sniffed with pretended disdain. "Harry? You mean Harry Potter? What on earth makes you think I came to inquire about him? I merely wanted to catch up with Phineas. I thought I'd check to make sure things were going smoothly for you while I was here."

Phineas raised an eyebrow. "Don't believe him, Dumbledore. He's as obsessed with that boy as you are. If not more so."

Pyrites looked irritated and moved his cane from hand to hand. "Obsessed? I'm not obsessed. I'm just here to visit, that's all. How are you, Phineas? Anything interesting happen in the head's office lately?"

"You're not a very good liar, Pyrites Hatter," Phineas said pointedly.

Pyrites ignored this comment and turned back to Albus. "So—heard from Cornelius Fudge recently?"

"Yes, actually," Albus answered with a smile. He described Cornelius's growing problems with Gringotts wizarding bank for a few minutes, then paused. "You aren't really interested in goblins, are you Pyrites?"

The painted man in the top hat blinked at him. "Interested? Of course I'm interested. Do go on. Something about Grindlewald's goblets, wasn't it?"

"Gringotts and goblins, actually."

Pyrites waved a gloved hand. "Same difference."

Albus sighed, supposing he might as well humor the eccentric portrait. "I'm actually glad you stopped in today, Pyrites. I've been meaning to ask if you'd be willing to follow Harry Potter around school again this next year. Just to keep an eye on him for me."

The man next to Phineas Nigellus gave him a thoughtful expression. "Well, I don't know, Dumbledore. There was a lot more trouble than anticipated last year, now wasn't there?"

Phineas snorted. "Oh, just tell him you're ecstatic about it and have done with it."

Albus retained his grave expression with difficulty. "I don't think this year is going to have quite as many problems as the last one. Your duties would be about the same, reporting to me if there's anything unusual going on. Regular updates on his schoolwork."

He saw Phineas shaking his head disparagingly. "Some unbiased headmaster you turned out to be, Dumbledore. Why don't you have portraits following all the students around, then?"

Pyrites rubbed at his chin throughout this exchange, clearly doing his best to look reluctant. There was a short silence as he hemmed and hawed, fiddling with his gloves and cane.

"All right, then. I suppose I could do it. When does the boy get here again?"

Albus smiled and turned back to the paperwork on his desk. "September first, Pyrites. Term always begins on September first."

"Right. September first. Well, I'll bid you a good afternoon, then."

Albus pretended not to notice Pyrites skipping gleefully through the other portraits as he left.


	9. The Whomping Willow and Other Adventures

My profuse apologies for the embarrassingly long delay in updating. Between attempting to get a project of my own published and rather tedious schoolwork, I've been hard up for time to write fanfiction. I'm still going, however--I swear I'm not giving this up. I've also had to deal with a really terrible bout of writer's block for this story. Chamber of Secrets, while brilliant, was perhaps my least favorite book in the series, and there's comparatively little information on Dumbledore throughout this one, so . . . you get the idea. Hopefully updates will be more regular from now on. Thanks to all the wonderful, inspiring people who reviewed. Your encouragement was a great help through the writer's block.

As always, what you recognize is not mine. And I love reviews.

* * *

"Did you see the paper last week?"

"I heard Gilderoy was trying to convince the reporter that the brawl was all because of his book. As if Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy would be fighting over that idiot's book."

Albus smiled to himself as he listened to the talk at the staff table in the otherwise empty Great Hall the morning of September first. The front page of the _Daily Prophet_ issue in question had featured a large picture of a winking and beaming Gilderoy Lockhart, whose arm had been clamped firmly around the shoulders of Harry Potter. The more famous of the two celebrities had appeared to be making every attempt to escape, his face quite red behind his glasses.

"I still can't believe you hired the incompetent fraud," Minerva muttered on his right.

"Now, Minerva, there's never been any _proof_ that Gilderoy is a fraud." Albus smiled at her over his pumpkin juice. "It will be a difficult year, but we'll manage."

At that point, the double doors to the Great Hall burst open to reveal a blond wizard in aquamarine robes. "Good morning, all," Gilderoy Lockhart greeted the now silent hall in a loud, cheery voice. "So sorry I'm late. I got a bit delayed in Edinburgh by a troublesome goul who—"

"Yes, welcome, Gilderoy," Albus said, waving a hand in hopes of cutting off the story for the sake of the rest of the staff. "Breakfast is here if you haven't had it yet. Most of the rest of us arrived last night, but Ptolemy and Auriga arrived this morning as well. You left your luggage in the Entrance Hall?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Gilderoy said with another flashy grin. "I trust the house elves will take care of it? I must say they're dead helpful things. Did I tell you about the time I freed a thousand of them from the clutches of the evil wizard Alberic Grunnion? As I recall he had several goblins enslaved as well, who thanked me profusely for freeing them and put in a good word for me at Gringotts—"

"Alberic Grunnion wasn't evil, he was the inventor of the dungbomb," Professor Flitwick pointed out with a look of disbelief at Lockhart's speech.

"And you don't think that qualifies him as evil?" Argus asked with a dark look on his pouchy face.

Albus cleared his throat as he stood up. "Well, Gilderoy, why don't you take a seat if you'd like some breakfast. For the rest of you, you have until this afternoon to finish getting settled in. Our first staff meeting of the term will be at three, just to make sure everything's all set for the students to arrive. Now if you'll excuse me, I have the minister's owl in my office waiting for a reply." With these words, he strode out of the hall, noting the look of dismay on Minerva's face as Gilderoy attempted to engage her in one-sided conversation.

The day passed quickly enough as Albus dealt with problems in organization and the last-minute crises that always seemed to pop up in the hours before the students arrived. Peeves had to be expelled from the kitchens a grand total of seven times. Minerva lost the list for the sorting—something that caused all the teachers no small amount of shock—and it was to be found some two hours later stuck to the ceiling of the Entrance Hall by three gobs of chewing gum. The ghosts reported the Grey Lady as missing from the castle completely and organized a search. At the same time, Gilderoy had to visit Madam Pomfrey for a calming draught after finding two boggarts hiding in his office. All in all, it was rather strange that Albus could be found in his office just as the students were due to arrive, rather than running about the castle trying to fix one problem or another.

An owl tapped on the window, the _Evening Prophet_ in its beak. Albus had just paid the given the owl a knut when Minerva and Severus entered. Both, Albus noted, seemed quite agitated. They kept interrupting each other in their haste to speak to him. Albus's gaze alternated between Severus's scowl and Minerva's flared nostrils.

"Headmaster—"

"Albus—"

"Lockhart has just been to my dungeon requesting potions ingredients for some ridiculous experiment on the whitening of teeth—"

"—will not have that brainless oaf in the Transfiguration department, I don't care how many awards he's won for that smile of his—"

"—and judging from what I remember of Horace Slughorn's comments on his performance in potion-making, I suggest he be banned from the dungeons."

"—and I'm not going to stand him dropping one more hint about replacing me as deputy head, the hopeless, incompetent—"

"I suggested he use a spell instead. In fact, I recommended an Unforgivable and offered a demonstration if he should ever enter my classroom uninvited again. Doubtless Gilderoy has never seen an Unforgivable, it should be an educational experience for him."

"—fraudulent excuse for a wizard! If he comes near my classroom again, I'll hex him!"

Albus raised his eyebrows. "If the two of you do not wish Gilderoy to come near your respective classrooms, it is of course your prerogative to withold an invitation. But please don't threaten him again, Severus. And Minerva, I assure you that Gilderoy in no way meets the qualifications for a deputy headmaster. Was there anything else you two needed before we go down to the feast?"

The two looked rather deflated.

Minerva's lips and eyebrows each formed a hard line. "Are you absolutely certain about Lockhart's appointment, Albus? We could always postpone Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons for a week to search for another applicant."

Severus glared at her for this comment, but didn't speak.

Albus, still holding the paper the owl had delivered, walked back over to his desk. "I'm afraid the appointment for this year is final, Minerva. If you would care to—" He broke off, for he had just noticed the front page. He held up the front page for the other two to inspect. "Do either of you know anything about this?"

_Flying Ford Anglia Mystifies Muggles_, the heading read. The page included a picture featuring a car launching itself into the clouds above King's Cross station in London. Two heads were discernible in the front seat, one of them bespectacled and with messy, jet-black hair.

Before either professor could comment, several portraits made outcries of alarm as Pyrites came dashing through several frames, knocking occupants out of the way.

"Dumbledore! Dumbledore!"

Albus glanced up at the man who was standing next to Phineas Nigellus, missing his top hat and panting heavily. "Yes?"

"He's not here, Harry Potter isn't here! He didn't arrive with the other students—I checked five times. Although, I did see that Hermione Granger looking all anxious. Do you think—Dumbledore, he's not in danger, is he?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Not _another_ one enamored with Potter."

Minerva wasn't paying much attention; she was squinting at the photograph. "That's Arthur Weasley's car, isn't it? He was going on about it at one of the last Order meetings before You-Know-Who fell. Couldn't be dissuaded from showing it to each of us individually."

Severus's eyes gleamed. "Did Potter and Weasley perhaps decide to run away at the prospect of returning to school for the year?" he asked in an unmistakably hopeful voice.

In the portrait above, Pyrites dropped his cane in horror at the thought.

Minerva scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Severus. If anything, they're on their way to the school right now."

As if on cue, there was an almighty crash from the grounds, accompanied by the definite sound of screeching brakes and a car backfiring.

Albus sighed. "Arthur will be upset at the loss of his car. Severus, will you make sure they are unharmed? Minerva, you and I must attend to the sorting, we're late as it is, and I have no doubt there are several students who are impatient for the feast to start." The three of them hurried out of the room, ignorig the portrait that followed, calling after them.

Half an hour later, Albus entered Severus's dungeon office to face a terrified Ron Weasley and a clearly repentant and ashamed Harry Potter. Albus breathed an internal sigh of relief. So this escapade was not a symptom of desired fame, after all. The details were confusing, since Harry refused to meet Albus's eyes in his shame. However, Albus did gather from a subtle use of legilimency that Harry and Ron had been unable to get through the barrier at King's Cross. Panicked by the emergency, Harry had not thought to use his owl, but had immediately grabbed at the only other available resource in his desperation to return to school.

Albus fougt a smile. The situation wasn't particularly serious, of course. Dedalus Diggle got into worse trouble on almost a monthly basis. How seriously first and second years seemed to take the rules—the two were convinced they were about to be expelled!

Albus was also aware, of course, of the ministry's detection of magic in Little Whinging that summer and the ministry's warning of impending expulsion at the first sign of more magic. Albus hadn't been able to help chuckling at that. Students were only expelled for underage magic if its intents were harmful. Albus could think of only two such expulsions in Hogwarts history, and neither had been during his time as headmaster. He'd expected Harry, as James Potter's son, to test the rule on underage magic long before the occurrence. Yes, the younger students tended to take the rules very seriously, indeed.

Albus returned to the feast with Severus in tow, giving Minerva a signal to let the boys off lightly. As he left, he noted a relieved-looking Pyrites lurking at the edges of the only portrait in Severus's office.

The first week of classes was eventful, to say the least. Albus received complaints about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher from no less than nine of his staff of seventeen. Minerva and Severus, of course, had already aired their grievances, though their glances kept Albus well aware of their unchanging opinions each time he met with them.

Professor Binns didn't seem to notice the new staff member, but then he rarely remembered Albus had replaced Armando Dippet as headmaster. Madam Pomfrey didn't complain about Lockhart either, but Albus did hear Gilderoy giving a longwinded speech to the Muggle Studies professor Marcus Thisby about how strict the nurse was. Marcus himself, after his initial complaint about Gilderoy, proceeded to ignore the gregarious new professor completely, and so most likely missed the tirade about the Madam Pomfrey completely.

Sibyll Trelawney had, of course, met Gilderoy at the breakfast on September first, but avoided further conversation with him by keeping to her sequestered tower. Gilderoy remarked to Albus during one of his long-winded and one-sided conversations that he could never seem to find an entrance to the North Tower, and the magical trapdoor would never open for him. Albus chuckled at that; Sibyll had clearly felt encouraged to review her little-used charm-work.

There were three other teachers who had not yet complained about Lockhart by the end of the first day. Auriga Sinistra was clearly smitten with the handsome, garrulous wizard, and so was unlikely to offer a negative opinion for some time. Gilderoy Lockhart himself would, of course, never imagine that anyone could complain about him, let alone lodging a complaint himself. Albus did wonder why Pomona Sprout hadn't yet made an appearance . . .

"Evening, Albus."

Well, scratch that. Albus pulled out his talley and added Pomona to the other eleven marks under his complaints list.

"A pleasant evening to you, Pomona. Please, come in and sit down. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

Her gray hair was even more frazzled than usual, and she had a distinctly put-out expression on her normally pleasant face. She plucked a candy from the proffered dish and popped it into her mouth in one fluid, frustrated motion. "I meant to talk to you sooner," she commented after a pause, "but as you know, I've been working on healing the whomping willow all week."

"Ah, yes. How's that going?"

Pomona waved a hand. "Well enough. It's a strong tree, I'm sure I can get it completely repaired within the next week. Two at most," she added, and a note of her normal cheerfulness and pride in her work crept into her voice. Then she frowned. "_Gilderoy_ had some interesting comments on the process," she said in a voice like acid. "Nothing useful, and most of it completely false." She raised an eyebrow at Albus. "I won't have to deal with that boy too much, will I? He's a young fool, Albus, and quite arrogant to boot."

Albus smiled. "I do think that's the most polite phrasing I've heard this week, Pomona."

The Herbology professor gave him an aggrieved look. "I don't like complaining about people, Albus, but that little blond popinjay stretches my patience. And if that isn't bad enough, I have to listen to Auriga going on about him. She's a dear, but if I have to listen to one more wistful comment about Gilderoy's eyes . . . " Pomona let the sentence trail off. They both knew she wouldn't do anything. "Couldn't you just speak to him about sticking to his own subject, Albus? I could almost deal with Auriga if I didn't have Gilderoy lecturing me about my plants."

"I'll do what I can," he promised, his eyes twinkling. "But you realize he might not listen."

"Of course, but the attempt is all I ask." She heaved herself up from the chair in front of his desk and sighed. "Have a pleasant evening, then, Albus."

"Until tomorrow, dear Pomona," he answered gallantly.

Albus had barely a moment to consider Cornelius's most recent letter—an excited idea of the possibilities of reinstating the Tri-Wizard Tournament—when the clearing of a throat caught his attention. "Good evening, Pyrites."

"Dumbledore," the man in the top hat greeted with a nod.

"How is Harry this evening?"

The thin man sharing the portrait seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering. "Well, he avoided Lockhart successfully most of the day today."

"I'd imagine he was pleased at that."

"Yes. The man keeps trying to convince Harry he's nothing more than a minor celebrity, puffing up his own small achievements all the while. The Weasley boy doesn't like him either, but the girl's infatuated." Pyrites wrinkled his nose slightly in distaste. "Harry has a much better way of dealing with fame. At least he doesn't seek it out."

"He had his detention tonight, didn't he?"

"Yes, with Lockhart. Funny thing, though. Harry said he heard a voice."

Albus raised his eyebrows and fiddled with the end of his beard in a thoughtful manner. "Who did he hear?"

"Well, that's just it," the portrait responded with a shrug. "There wasn't a voice. At least, not one that I heard. Perhaps he ought to see the nurse."

Next to him, Phineas Nigellus snorted. "You are positively overwrought with anxiety anytime that boy suffers so much as a hangnail," the former headmaster said in a disdainful voice.

Pyrites inspected his white gloves with his affected careless air. "I don't know what you'e talking about," he answered in a would-be offhand voice.

"You don't remember coming in here a week ago in a dither because you couldn't find your precious Potter boy?" Phineas countered. "Knocked me right off my chair. I'm surprised you managed to recover your hat from wherever you dropped it."

Pyrites raised an eyebrow at him. Then with a sniff he stepped into the next portrait over.

"Did Harry mention what the voice said?" Albus asked thoughtfully.

"Some dark babble about ripping and killing. He wasn't very precise when he described it to the Weasley boy, but he did sound unnerved."

"And you didn't hear anything?" Albus pressed, more urgently now. "Anything at all?"

"Nothing aside from the normal drippy pipes in that region of the castle."

Albus considered this for a long time, but without any definite conclusions. In an effort of concentration, he took out his penseive and added the thought to it, then swirled the contents of the basin around to see what it might turn up. No good—only a memory of Argus complaining about the appalling state of the plumbing when Moaning Myrtle flooded the first floor girls' bathroom for the fifth time last year.

Fawkes, watching over his shoulder, crooned comfortingly at Albus. He would understand eventually. He always did.

Albus turned back to Pyrites. "Watch him closely. I don't think Harry's unstable, but hearing voices isn't a good sign. It often points to danger." Albus stroked Fawkes pensively as he watched Pyrites exit through the portraits lining the walls. He had a bad feeling about this.


End file.
